The Lucky Charm
by bethaboo
Summary: Edward Masen, Boston Red Sox player, meets Bella Dwyer, a reporter assigned to cover the Sox. Edward hates reporters; Bella loathes baseball. Then, the Sox begin to lose. Can she convince him she isn't his unlucky charm? On permanent hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I've had people on me for _months _about writing a sequel to Going for the Gold. Unfortunately, that isn't ever going to happen, HOWEVER, there is a new sports star in the house . . .ladies (and gentleman), I give you Baseballward! I am pretty much totally obsessed with the Boston Red Sox and have been for years. My co-author, the amazing jakeward, is equally obsessed, and was wonderful enough to introduce me to the wonder that is Jacoby Ellsbury, center fielder for the team. I am forever changed by this man--no joke. This story is going to be funny and sweet and just a tad bit dramatic. Mostly just funny, though.**

**For all intents and purposes, this story will follow the current season of the Boston Red Sox, most of which has already been played. We are taking a few liberties, however. The players, also, are all real, just with different names (though some of them are keeping their original names). There is a link to a character list on my ff profile. Yes, there is a lot of baseball "verbiage" in this as well. If you don't know what something means or is, feel free to ask and we will try to cover it in the next chapter's AN. . .also, I think a dictionary of baseball terms might be in order. Also there are two gratuitous Jacoby Ellsbury pics on my profile--check him out, he is a hot, HOT man. HOWEVER, if you are not a baseball fanatic, I still think you will like this story. It's funny and sweet, and at the heart of it is the romance between Edward and Bella--the baseball is just kind of window dressing :)**

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EPOV

I'd been playing baseball since I was four years old, and in the last 21 years, I'd gotten ready for hundreds--no, more like _thousands--_of games. Some had been, by definition, more special than others. I remembered the state championship game my senior year of high school, and the College World Series. I remembered the first time I'd started in single A, then double A, triple A, and then finally, my first game playing for the Boston Red Sox. Then there were the games I'd started in my first American League Championship Series--I'd been euphoric and so full of adrenaline it was a wonder I'd been able to catch a single fly ball. Strangely, I couldn't remember at all what I'd felt before the 2007 World Series. I'd been numb and sick with nerves, terrified I'd get to bat and puke all over the catcher. Or even worse, strikeout with most of the world watching.

This game felt, with maybe those handful as an exception, like every single other game I'd ever played in. And yet, there was something different. . .some elusive whiff of excitement that floated around the Red Sox clubhouse.

Seth Clearwater, who'd been a rookie the year before me and played 2nd base, was sitting across from me, wrapping his ankle. We had trainers that usually did that, but Seth and I were young. We weren't used to be catered to like huge stars. I still freaked out whenever anyone recognized me in Boston. And lately it hadn't just been in Boston. The press was proclaiming me the next big star, and to be honest, that idea made me kind of sick. All I wanted was to play baseball--the whole massive popularity thing was an additional symptom that scared the shit out of me.

But excelling as a starting position player with one of the best teams in major league baseball meant that everything you did was under a microscope. Boston, no matter how much I loved it here, took its baseball very, _very _seriously, and I knew my welcome would only last as long as I helped the Sox win games.

"Something feels different." I leaned over the bench next to my locker, saying it quietly enough that only Seth heard me. He was used to my quirks, but the other guys would probably laugh at my naivety. They were all good guys--some of them were even _great _guys. I couldn't get over the fact that I batted with the great Emmett McCarty and watched the greatest ace of our generation, Jasper Whitlock, pitch on a regular basis. Even Seth, the guy I bunked with and hung out with, and _knew_, had won the American League MVP last year. It was humbling and sobering and downright fucking rad that I got to play every day with these guys. And even more incredible that I was considered in their league.

Seth nodded, as he wound the tape expertly around his right ankle. "First game after the All-Star break. We have the best record in the whole league. Gotta keep it that way."

"We will," I said confidently, knowing in my bones that we had such a good team we almost _couldn't _lose.

"Jasper pitching today." Seth said it nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, but I knew what he meant. We wouldn't have to drive in many runs to win if Jasper kept pitching the way he'd been doing before the All-Star break. The man was like a fucking machine. Nobody, _nobody, _could remember an ace with such a low playoff ERA. Sure, we weren't in the playoffs yet, but between Jasper and Jon Lester and Wakefield, it was kind of inevitable.

"It'll be fine," I said, refusing to even glance in McCarty's direction. He was a huge beast of man, with a swing that sent balls flying over the Green Monster and the walls of pretty much every other ballpark he'd ever played in. The man was a home run legend. It had been him who'd nearly singlehandedly saved the Sox against the Yanks in the 2004 ALCS. Boston adored him. _I _adored him, though I would have died before admitting it in front of him.

But lately, despite all his many accomplishments, he'd hit a wall. Struck out more times than a designated hitter should. Didn't homer for a number of games at the start of the season. He'd been steadily improving up until the All Star break, but I knew management wasn't happy with him. A DH was supposed to drive in runs, not strikeout.

"You mean _he'll_ be fine," Seth said so softly I barely caught it.

I nodded back. "They wouldn't." The unspoken rumor around the clubhouse was that if McCarty couldn't seriously pick his way up out of the slide, he'd be traded. I couldn't even imagine what it would be like if that happened. Emmett McCarty _was _Red Sox baseball.

"They traded Manny last year," Seth hissed, and I thought I saw Carlisle's head raise just an inch. He'd heard.

"They got sick of Manny being Manny. I can't blame them for that either." It had killed me to watch Manny loaf around in left field, pretty much doing nothing to catch fly balls, while I'd busted my ass in center to prove my worth to the team. When Manny Ramirez, McCarty's hitting buddy, had been traded to the Los Angeles Dodgers, I'd felt more than a little vindicated. The management here in Boston only wanted players who could pull their own weight on the roster. It didn't matter if you had a bloated contract and a million fans around the world wearing your jersey.

"Manny's gone now." Seth and I looked up to see Carlisle, the older third baseman, walking towards us. "Manny's gone, and it wouldn't be good to start talking about him now." He jabbed a finger in McCarty's direction. "Papi here will start crying again."

Emmett's abnormally huge head didn't move an inch. "Fuck you and the momma you rode in on."

"Anyone hear about the reporter that Charlie's bringing around today?" Carlisle asked, running a hand through his silvering hair, then resting his foot on one of the benches, leaning over to tie his cleat.

"A reporter?" I asked with disgust evident in my voice. "Why do we have to have a reporter?"

"Oh, it gets better," Sam Uley, our power-hitting first baseman added. "We get a reporter for the rest of the fucking season."

That got Emmett's attention. He made a disgusted sound, before slamming his locker door shut. The sound reverberated in the spacious clubhouse. "You've got to be shitting me," I said, thinking about some slimy reporter sticking his nose into our business for the rest of the season, putting on the wrong kind of pressure.

"You ain't nothing to worry about, pretty boy," Sam said, giving me a leer. "McCarty here's gonna get grilled within an inch of his life."

"Fuck you all," Emmett growled, but there was a huge smile on his face. Sometimes I wondered if the stress of a possible trade got to the rest of us more than it got to him. Emmett was jovial and friendly and laidback, and we all worried about him like a bunch of pre-adolescent chicks.

"It's not Edward's fault he's prettier than the rest of us," Jasper drawled in his Texas accent, a baseball dangling from his fingertips. I clamped my lips together and returned my attention to the cleats in my hands. It was one of the team's favorite pastimes to give me as much crap as possible over my looks.

"Believe me," I responded shortly, "I'd much rather be ugly and bald like Uley over here."

The door to the clubhouse opened, and then slammed shut.

"Everyone decent?" Charlie called out, and we all looked at each other with confusion. Charlie Swan had seen all of us naked, clothed and every other form in-between. He was our manager, our father, and our own personal dictator.

"Yeah, we're decent," Jasper called out, straightening on the bench, figuring out faster than the rest of us that Charlie clearly wasn't alone.

And he was right; there was a girl with Charlie. She was young, maybe 23 or 24, and skinny, with pale arms that stuck out of a plain blue t-shirt and short slim jean-encased legs. Long brown hair was caught up in a ponytail and she wore a brand new Sox cap. Her face was pale and heart-shaped, with huge, startlingly dark brown eyes.

We almost never had female visitors in the clubhouse, and those that did visit were almost always the wives or significant others of the players--and even they were almost never comfortable in this traditional male enclave. The floor might be teak hardwood and plush carpeting and the lockers triple-sized, but it still smelled like sweat and Gatorade and leather. But this girl, she exuded a calm sense of absolute confidence, like she belonged wherever she was. She looked at each one of us, carefully and completely, her eyes flicking from one player to the next. Our eyes met, and she gave me the same once over that everyone else got, and then moved on, her expression betraying nothing.

Jasper sat up even straighter, and ran a hand through this shaggy blond hair. I rolled my eyes at his transparency. Whitlock was the biggest manwhore on the whole team, and made no secret of the fact that his Southern charm never failed to win over pretty much any woman he'd ever wanted.

"Boys, this here is Bella Dwyer. She's a reporter with ESPN."

Total silence. We just sat there, half-dressed, with our jaws dropped nearly to the shiny hardwood floor. _This _was the reporter? She looked like she was still in college.

I remembered her dispassionate perusal of all of us, and I felt a chill on the back of my neck. However old she was, the _girl _was serious trouble.

"Hello," she said, allowing a smile to break across her delicate features for the first time, and it hit me like a ton of bricks that this girl was fucking _gorgeous_. Her voice was low and just a little husky. The power of it shot straight to my crotch, and just like that, I was fucking hard. Casually, I draped an arm in front of me, hoping that I'd be able to hide the evidence of my reaction.

_What the fuck_, I told my body, s_he's just a pretty girl--get yourself fucking together._

"I expect," Charlie said, "that you will _all _be friendly to Miss Dwyer and treat her with the utmost respect and courtesy, as well giving her access to your batting and pitching practices, warmups, as well as answering all her questions before and after games. This is going to be a special series ESPN is running on us--the team to beat in the playoffs--and I want our best foot forward." He smiled charmingly at Bella, who just ate that shit up.

He turned to walk away, leaving Bella just standing there, a calculating expression on her face. No doubt she was trying to decide which of us was the easiest nut to crack.

"Hey there little lady," Jasper drawled, getting to his feet, and sauntering over to where she stood. "You can interview me _any_time you like." I barely refrained from rolling my eyes again. This was par for the course, but you'd think that Whitlock could keep it in his pants when it came to the reporter who was going to be stalking us for the next four months.

"Can it, Jasper," Billy, the catcher, snapped. "You've got a game to prepare for."

Jasper threw up his arms in mock confusion, all the while eying Bella Dwyer. "I'm ready. Never been _more _ready in my life, if you know what I mean . . ." he trailed off suggestively.

She just shrugged a little, not looking either shocked or surprised. "I'm sure I can find someone else to talk to," she said again, and this time, I was sure I caught a hint of Boston in her voice. Oh, _great_. She was either a groupie posing as a reporter or a reporter posing as a groupie. This could only end badly.

"Talk to Eddie, here. He's real friendly," Jasper said suggestively, waggling his eyebrows in a way he insisted that women found irresistible. Bella, however, clearly wasn't like any other women because she just gave him a bland stare.

"Eddie?"

I flushed; if there was anything more embarrassing than having the ace pitcher of the team pimp out women to me, it was when they didn't even know who I was. No doubt Miss Bella Dwyer had been looking for a few more famous jerseys to try on for size. Like. . .Whitlock's. Or McCarty's. They were both single.

Those dark eyes swiveled towards me, and I suddenly felt like she was picking me apart, thread by thread. "Oh," she said, her voice still flat and emotionless, "you mean Edward?"

Somehow, she'd figured out that I _hated _being called Eddie, and that I much preferred to be referred to as Edward, and the slight smirk on her pretty lips indicated she found it amusing. The feeling was, unfortunately, _not _mutual; she was annoying me more every second I spent with her.

I glared at Jasper's retreating back, as he and Billy went to formalize the night's game plan. Turning back to my locker, I decided to ignore Bella. Let someone else show her around the clubhouse. I had a game to focus on, and I wasn't going to let some little girl break my concentration.

"Go talk to her," Seth hissed under his breath, just loud enough that I barely heard him.

"Why?" I hissed back.

He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a look like, _why the fuck not?_

I could think of a lot of reasons why I didn't want to squire around the newest pain in my ass, and I started to list them, but Seth stopped me. "Dude," he whispered, even lower, "she's _real _pretty." And then Seth gave me a look like, _I can't believe I have to point this out to you._

He didn't. But I definitely wasn't going to tell my best friend _and _last year's American League MVP that I got hard with just a glimpse of that long brown ponytail.

My temper was rapidly fraying, and it was all _her _fault. I was notorious on the team for being totally calm and collected. It took something akin to a nuclear explosion to have me lose it--or, apparently, the appearance of one, way too pretty, reporter. I threw on my jersey, and slammed my locker door shut. I was sick of everyone in the locker room thinking that I was some kind of fucking eunuch.

She was still standing in the middle of the room, like a bug under a microscope, because every single of my teammates was staring at her like she was an alien from another planet. Even the happily married ones. I shook my head in disgust. I would just have to take one for the team, before this chick got under Sam's skin and Emily killed him. Or Seth's skin, and I had to answer to Rachel.

Nobody, I thought darkly as I moved towards her, could accuse me of not having enough team loyalty. I wasn't exactly a willing victim, but I'd be a martyr--at least just this once.

"You want a look around?" She looked up at me, those dark lashes sweeping upwards, the expression on her face a mix of amusement and expectation. She'd known I was going to succumb to her charms--and as much as I hated to admit it, she was definitely attractive in a _I'm totally not trying to be pretty, I just am _way. Great. Freaking fantastic.

"That would be great." She smiled at me then, lips parting and showing me a line of straight white teeth. She'd been pretty before she smiled, but the smile just effortlessly pushed her over into breathtaking territory. It made no sense whatsoever, but I _really _hated her in that moment. Or maybe I just hated myself--and my inevitable reaction. I shifted myself in those damn tight pants and tried to pretend that the entire team wasn't watching me make a utter fool of myself.

"So this is the clubhouse, obviously. Let's go to the training room." I started walking towards the door, slapping my glove against my leg, and she followed behind me. She was well-behaved now, but I'd seen that mischievous, sly look in her eyes. Bella Dwyer might look like an angel, but I knew she wasn't one. Not even fucking close.

The training room was almost totally empty. Everyone was feeling good after the All Star break, and with so little time left before players due on the field, anybody who needed treatment had already gotten it.

Bella said nothing, but her eyes took in every single minute detail. I could almost visibly see her filing away every bit of information that could be useful to her.

"So why are you here?" I asked casually, leaning against the wall.

She turned, a slight smile on her lips. "You know why I'm here. To be with the team. The best team in baseball."

"You've done your research then," I drawled.

"I _am _a reporter," she snipped. "That's my job."

There was something in her voice that worried me. Something about her attitude that I didn't like. "Do you even _like _baseball?" I asked, wondering if I had managed to stumble on the secret she didn't want anyone to know.

"Don't be ridiculous. Why does it matter if I like baseball or not? This is a _job_."

The temper that had been simmering away since Sam had told us there was going to be a reporter ripped into a full-on boil.

"See, there's the flaw in your logic. Baseball _is _my job, and I happen to love it." My voice inched up an octave, and I knew I sounded like a patronizing ass, but I could have cared less. This _girl _had showed up on my turf, holding our reputations in front of us like bait, and now had the nerve to tell me that she didn't care one way or the other--it was just a _job_.

"Fine," she snapped. "I've _never _liked baseball. I find it boring and trite, and the players all have egos the size of New York."

Later, I would think back and be able to trace my whole disintegrating self-control back to this exact moment. When she compared me to _fucking New York. The fucking Yankees._

"That's it," I roared, and I think my sudden total loss of control took her by surprise, because just as I stepped towards her, my vision red and fiery, she took a shocked step backwards. "You show up here, _uninvited and unwanted_, to totally disturb our concentration and dish out our private shit to the whole fucking world, and then you _dare _to compare us to fucking New York?"

Bella's eyes grew wide and surprised, as if she suddenly comprehended exactly what she'd done to piss me off. "Yes," I yelled, "maybe that was in your research--Boston _hates _New York."

She nodded then, her chin dipping towards her chest, and I took another threatening step towards her, perversely enjoying that I could make her so visibly uncomfortable. Typically, I considered myself supremely non-threatening--I was tall, but not huge like Emmett, and while I could dish out my own brand of intimidation, I didn't have the fiery intensity of Jasper or the death glare of Papelbon, our closer. I was feeling just edgy enough that I kind of _liked _putting Miss Bella Dwyer on notice this way. It was hard to deny thatI loved getting under her skin the same way she'd gotten under mine.

Bella swallowed hard, hard enough that I could see the movement disturb the smooth, white skin of her throat. I couldn't remember the last time Id been so physically aware of a woman before, but whatever interest she held for me was already bordering on unhealthy. I didn't even want to contemplate what I'd feel like four months down the road.

"Listen, _Eddie,_" she growled, suddenly taking another step forward, and meeting me head-on. "You may hate that I'm here, but I'd like you to remember that, yes, as you so graciously put it, 'I'm here to dish out your private shit to the whole fucking world,' so maybe you should watch yourself." Her dark brown eyes bored into mine, and I gulped a little. I didn't exactly like that she could hold her own with me while I was in a snit, but there was something strangely attractive about it. Something almost _comfortable_ in that I could lay into her and she'd take it and dish it right back without blinking. She was tough.

And just like that, some of my anger faded, though the electricity that flowed between us didn't relent. Instead, I found myself way too close to her, and instead of backing away, my eyes automatically fell to her lips. I'd noticed them before, but now I was almost mesmerized by them. It would be so, so, _so _fucking easy just to. . .

The door banged open. "Masen, you in here?" It was Billy, the captain, trying to get everyone on the field for warmmps. _Damnit._

"I'm coming in a second," I called, taking a step back away from Bella. The moment broke and she looked away, though she certainly looked a bit flustered, she didn't blush or fidget. She'd known what was about to happen, and she didn't seem upset that I'd been _this close _to molesting her in our training room. Which opened up a whole other train of thought in my head. Was this what she'd been wanting? Was she here in groupie or reporter capacity?

"Do you know how to get to your seat?" I asked, not turning my head to look at her, because if I did, I wasn't sure if I could resist any longer.

She nodded, and while we went our separate ways, I felt the same way I did right the moment I took off to steal a base--once I got moving, I couldn't stop myself--the momentum pulled me inexorably forward. I felt a twinge of unease that I'd just taken one step over the line with Bella Dwyer and it would be difficult, if not impossible, to move back.

--------

Out on the field, I passed by Seth, who was stretching. "Hey," he called, and I walked back over him, shielding my eyes from the sun.

"What?" I knew what he wanted to ask, and the last thing I wanted to discuss was Bella. Her job and her attitude and her general fuck you chip on her shoulder still kind of pissed me off, but I'd just almost kissed her. I needed four hours of soul-cleansing baseball action to try to get my mind off all the _other _action that _could _have just happened. _It was a momentary thing_, I told myself, _you just had a weak moment because she's so damn pretty and you admired that she stood her ground with you._

"What happened with you and the reporter?" Seth had a knowing look in his eye and I knew that the rumor was already circulating the field that I'd been caught, way too close to Bella, in the training room. _Thanks a bundle, Billy, _I thought.

"Her name's Bella, and nothing happened," I said shortly. "I'm going to go warm up."

I went through my warmups, tossing the ball back and forth with Seth, and Paul, our right fielder. Finally, JD, our left fielder jogged out and we warmed up our arms, him throwing me long balls and watching me with shaded eyes as I ran after them, hard. I wanted to punish my body today--I wanted to drive it into submission so that when I ran into Bella again, I had total control.

The game started, uneventfully, but then, most games seemed fairly uneventful after 20 years of playing baseball. I chased a ball down, but it wasn't particularly challenging. Jasper retired the first three batters in their order, and we jogged into the dugout. I was the lead-off hitter, so I grabbed my batting helmet and my bat, swinging it once, then twice, to try to loosen up my arms. I'd taken a particularly grueling batting practice yesterday, and I felt a little tight.

I stepped up to the plate, and waited for my concentration to narrow in to just me, the pitcher, and the ball, like it always did, but for some reason, I couldn't focus today. I'd gotten over the fact that over 50,000 people watched my at-bats a long time ago, but for some unknown reason, I felt a twinge of nerves as I watched the first strike whiz past my hands. _Bella_, I thought, feeling my concentration slip, _was watching me_. And somehow, this changed everything, which was pretty ridiculous.

"Strike!" the umpire called, and I halted to readjust my gloves, then settled back into my batting stance. I let a ball go by, and then a second ball.

_Just get on base, _I told myself, _that's what your job is_. When I'd first come up to the bigs, I'd been eager and tenacious, determined to jump on any pitch with potential, but as a leadoff, that wasn't my job. My place in the batting order was to get on base any way I could, then theoretically steal bases, hopefully putting me in a strong scoring position when the meat of our order came up to bat.

The next pitch, I could feel it, would be a fastball. I could almost see it in the pitcher's eyes. I swung hard at it, and as I felt the ball connect with the bat, I took off hard, knowing it could possibly be a single, maybe even a double, if the placement was right.

I'd been right. A double. I slid easily into second base and popped up, dusting off my now-dirty white uniform and readjusting my helmet. I looked across the field to see Seth take his first pitch, which was an obvious ball. Seth might look small and unintimidating, but he was scrappy and fearless and I'd watched him grind out incredible at-bats against some of the best pitchers in the majors.

This pitcher, however, was pretty easy to read. Seth hit a short choppy single, and I moved to third. The ball had stayed infield or else I would've been pretty tempted to head all the way to home plate. If I was being 100% honest, I wanted to prove to the delectable Miss Dwyer that I took my job as a baseball player very seriously.

_Lame_, I reminded myself as I watched Sam Uley strike out, _you want to score so that we'll be ahead as a team, not because you want to __**score **__with Bella Dwyer._

McCarty flew out to right field, and then suddenly we were down to two outs. I hated this, sitting on third base, just _waiting _for someone to be able to get a hit. I wasn't the most patient person alive, and with the adrenaline surging through me, I wanted to head home so badly I could almost taste it.

But then, instead of blowing the ball over my head towards the Green Monster, the left fielder caught it easily, and just like that, the inning was over, with Seth and I stranded on 1st and 3rd.

The game plodded along. Jasper held his own with their batters, but a few misplaced pitches sent the balls flying over our heads, or skidding along the ground where they were difficult to catch for outs.

By the eighth inning, we were behind 4 to 3. I'd struck out once, in the 3rd, and then I'd ground out in the fifth. Finally, I'd managed another choppy single in the last inning, stolen second, and then scored. As I'd rounded home plate, I hadn't been able to resist lifting my eyes to find Bella in the stands, to see if she was watching. Even though I usually found it difficult to find friends and family in the massive sea of faces, I found hers easily--_of course_--and our eyes locked for a brief second, before she bent her head down. It looked like she was scribbling notes on a pad, and I wondered if she'd found something in my performance today lacking and that was what she was writing about. Residual anger at her high-handed attitude about baseball gnawed at me, and I swung the bat back and forth, trying to work some of the mental kinks out physically.

As I approached home plate, I saw Jasper in the dugout, scuffing the floor with the toe of his cleat. He had a pissed off expression on his face, and I knew he was furious that we could lose this game when he'd pitched so well.

I wanted to win this game. For Jasper. For me. For the team. _And for Bella_.

The Blue Jays' reliever was in, and I _knew_ I could hit off him. It was just a matter of what he'd give me to hit. I gripped the bat tighter, and leaned over in my stance, the metal of my cleats digging into the dirt.

He threw a ball. Then a strike, which I didn't like the look of. Finally, on the third pitch, he threw something I could really use. I got a huge chunk of it and took off in a frantic burst of speed. As I sped past the first base coach, I saw him make the single to keep going. I rounded second and hit third in a slide, sending the dry dirt up in a cloud. But I was safe. _Safe_.

I could hear the roar of the crowd as the ump called it, and the small swell of self-satisfaction was impossible to ignore. I'd _done _it. I'd gotten us in scoring position with no outs.

Seth hit a ground out. The elation inside me faded a bit, and I saw the frustration in every line of his body as he slumped back to the dugout, but I refused to give up hope. I'd been left stranded earlier, but I wouldn't let it happen again.

Then Carlisle came up to bat, and I saw that the pitcher wasn't even paying attention to me. He hadn't once glanced over at third base. He was solely focused on his catcher and on Carlisle. A wild, absolutely insane thought popped into my head, and I tried to dismiss it, but I couldn't. It remained stuck there, like glue, as I watched Carlisle strike out.

Paul stepped up to the plate, and again, I thought that the pitcher had seemingly forgotten I was even here. Well, I thought, he's going to _pay_ for that. I wasn't considered one of the fastest runners in the fucking majors for nothing.

I waited until the precise moment when he had gathered all his concentration to throw the pitch. My muscles tensed as I tried to hide my intention from the third baseman, but he wasn't even paying attention to me. That sealed the deal. The moment came and I took off, my legs pushing hard into the dirt, my arms pumping. I knew it was going to be really, _really _close, so I slid in headfirst. I felt my fingers brush the cold hard plastic of home plate, and then felt the tag. I closed my eyes in relief and my heart pumped with elation. _I'd fucking done it. _A straight steal of home.

I got to my feet after what seemed like an eternity but in reality was probably only a second. I was so sure I'd done it; I'd _known _I'd done it. There had been a split second only between my fingers touching the plate and the catcher tagging me, but that was all I needed--that tiny, minuscule fraction of a second.

The roar of the crowd was incredibly loud, but not loud enough to mask the ump's decision.

"Out!" he roared, and with that single word, my control totally splintered and fell apart. I'd been on edge from the second that Bella Dwyer walked into the clubhouse with her smug attitude and beautiful eyes, and with the ump's call, I fell off the cliff. I tore the helmet off my head, anger surging through me in a white hot river, and I threw it at the ump's feet. I barely registered the single move of his arm that ejected me from the game, but I did see Bella, up in the stands, shake her head in dismay.

Charlie ran out of the dugout, his face an alarming shade of red that matched the lettering on our uniforms, and starting berating the ump with angry gestures and even angrier words. I couldn't hear him through the roar of the crowd. Fenway's faithful were incredibly displeased and I felt a savage sense of unfairness. _They _knew I'd been safe.

I stalked off the field, the boos filling my ears, and headed down the tunnel to the clubhouse. My heart pounded so hard that I thought it might explode out of my chest from the sheer agonizing fury. _Fuck Bella Dwyer. This is what happens when I try to be a cocky bastard._ Anger coalesced into a hard ball inside me, stifling the air in my lungs until I could barely breathe. I wanted to tear her limb to limb for ruining my concentration today, for tempting me and then leaving me to pick up all the fucking pieces.

I threw my glove on the bench and it missed, hitting the floor instead with an angry _thwrap_.

Bella Dwyer had just fucking ruined me.

* * *

BPOV

I exited the stadium, made sure my press pass was in full view, and retreated back to the clubhouse. Edward Masen, the guy-next-door, had just been ejected from the game and I was shocked. He'd never been known for having a temper, and I'd just seen it twice in one day.

I wasn't sure why he held such disdain for me, but I knew it was mutual. I was covering the team; it couldn't be helped, so why and when did I become his target? I'd walked into the clubhouse, ready to just sit back and watch the team prep for their game. I hadn't planned on actually talking to the players. Then Jasper Whitlock started in with his psuedo-charming attitude and before I knew it, I was Public Enemy Number One as far as Edward Masen was concerned. And it set me off.

After our pre-game exchange, I sucked it up and did my best to keep my head clear. But just when I thought I'd managed to do just that, an image of Edward would rush back and the irritation would start once again.

I'd gone to my seat, five rows back from home plate, and watched the game. I had to admit it was a great game, even though I didn't like baseball. Then the ejection happened.

I'd watched my fair share of games growing up, even when my mom remarried, and I had never seen such a terrible call. I would never admit to Edward that I thought he was right to protest the call, but it was clear to me where I sat that he was definitely safe. Charlie came out of the dugout and then he and the ump went at it, and that's when I decided I had to slip away.

I didn't want to start my coverage of them with that scene. I walked quickly through the crowd, and made my way to the door that led to the clubhouse. After flashing the badge that hung around my neck, I went straight to the clubhouse to sit and wait for the game to be over and maybe get at least one interview to recap a players' perspective of the game.

"Damn it!" I heard a voice shout, and instinctively, I knew who it belonged to.

I quietly slipped into the room where Edward was. His forearm was pressed against the wall, his glove still on his hand, his head rested on the inside of his elbow. For as wrong as it was, I felt the same zapping current hit me that had when I first saw him in the clubhouse earlier that night. It was as if I suddenly felt alive and I could feel every part of me react to him; his voice, his eyes, and his body.

Once I saw him, every other player was reduced to the background. There was just something undeniably beautiful about Edward. His build was average for a ballplayer, but every muscle was toned and developed for the sole purpose of playing the game. His arms were strong, and his hands looked as if they could provide all the pleasure he was capable of giving. I thought about running my fingers through his thick, dark hair; and what it would be like to be kissed by his lips. So perfectly shaped and full, with the most perfect peak I had ever seen. I knew I could survive for weeks on the sight of the jawporn alone, and that was only after I cleared the image of his perfectly sculpted cheek bone. His neck lead to the shoulders that were both broad and perfect for his frame. When I actually was able to shift my gaze lower, I felt a heat rocket straight to the core of my being when I studied his amazing thighs and ass.

I shook the image from my mind just as quickly as I had when I first laid eyes on him. I was here for my job, not a hook-up. Then he spoke to me with such annoyance, all the images of the pretty I had just absorbed hit the curb.

I watched him as he slammed his gloved hand against the wall a second time, then spun sharply and threw the glove across the room. Damn. That was hot. I never took my eyes off of him even when I heard the sound of leather hit the wall. I walked silently toward him; his hands on hips, his head tilted towards the floor where his glove lay.

I wasn't sure if I should say something to him. Love the sport or not, it was clear the call was bull and he was right to express it how he did. I took in a large breath, still unsure of what action I should take next when he spun around and saw me.

"Well isn't that just great. Got your story now, don't you?" He spat the words out and I knew half the anger in his voice was, in fact, directed at me.

"No. Like it or not, I'm not the only one that saw that. I can't stop it from hitting the news."

"You're like a bad penny. You just keep turning up," he snapped.

"What is your issue with me, anyway? I've never seen or spoken to you before tonight." I stood firm and let him know that if he wanted to get back into it, I was ready.

"I don't like the press." He glared at me, the most accusing look in his eyes.

"How very Ted Williams of you," I said as I matched his look.

"What the hell does that mean?" He took a step closer to where I was standing, the anger obvious.

"It means that here you play for Boston, home of the most faithful fans in the league; and without knowing why I'm here- what the point of this piece is- you've decided to just be an ass to me, the press –and the damned enemy as far as your concerned - for no reason what-so-ever." I heard my accent start to slip out as it always did when my temper flared.

"Like I said, I know what you're here to do." His voice rose, and the vein in his beautiful, thick neck started to stand out against his sweat-dampened skin.

"Yeah, because God forbid that I might actually be here to write a story about baseball. Did you forget I work for ESPN?"

"That doesn't mean anything. I've seen reporters come into the clubhouse saying they are writing one article only to find out they wrote something different. You people can't be trusted."

"What?! Reporters can't be trusted? What about ball players? You guys are known for using women and just casting them aside when the mood strikes you."

"Not all of us," he said under his breath.

"No, but a fair majority of you do." I didn't want to back down. There was something so unbelievable hot seeing him like this – anger so close to bubbling over.

"And all you reports are just saints?" His eyes narrowed.

"No, but before you decide to take out your obvious hostility toward my profession why don't you step back and observe yours for a second," I fired back. I could feel the heat of our exchange course throughout my body, and it was not just feeding the anger. Something else was being fed altogether.

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, as he leaned in to me. I wanted to back up, but my body had other ideas. It wanted to stay as close to him as possible "You think I don't know this sport? You think I'm just some jock from Washington State that showed up? They don't have walk-on's in this sport, sweetheart."

"I'm aware of that." My response was breathless, and I was pissed that my body was starting to become fully aware of just how sexually appealing this man was to me.

"I've busted my ass every day from little league, through college, and in the minors to get here. I've played this game with the utmost professionalism. Until today." His eyes bore into me and I started to feel a whole different heat come over me.

"Are you inferring that _I_ got you ejected?" I asked, completely shocked.

"Well it had never happened before _you_ showed up, I can tell you that." He leaned away from me; his nostrils flared and his lips phased into a thin line.

"Well maybe it's the fact that you rattled your own cage," I spat.

"Never." His voice was rough and I fought to keep breathing.

"There's always a first time for everything," I seethed.

"And a last…" His words lingered and the threatening tone in his voice pushed me further to the edge.

Something in me snapped. I wasn't sure if it was the sexual desire I felt for him or the fact that he had no regard for me and my profession. Or maybe . . .

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means, these boys aren't stupid. You start snooping around where you aren't welcome, and your clubhouse days are over. And I'm sure that would put a crimp in your jersey collection," he said, and unless I was nuts I picked up on a hurt edge in his voice.

"You think I'm here to sleep with the players? What the fuck kind of thinking is that?" I was pissed and it was game on. It was hard enough to be one of the few women in a near all-male club, but I was a complete professional.

"I saw the look on your face when you walked in," he said. Nothing on him moved. He was a solid wall.

"So," I started, my body moved forward to challenge him, "a woman walks into the famed Red Sox clubhouse, and she's only there to collect the jerseys of her conquests? "

"I didn't mean that," he defended as he took a step back.

"Let me tell you something, _,_ I'm here to cover to the 2004 _and _2007 World Series Champs as they chase down the ALCS this year." I stepped forward again, and he stepped back. "This team started the season as the favorite to win the ALCS, but no – you think I'm here to score on my own."

"If you're here for sports coverage, why were the players not told?" He seemed leery of being to close too me, and I used that to my advantage.

"Not my problem that the owners never brought it up. But I'm here now, and you better find a way to deal with me ." I stepped several steps closer to him, and moved us into the small "L" shaped hallway that separated the lockers from the training room.

"I don't have to deal with anything. And let me tell you something, _Ms. Dwyer,_ you write one word that paints this team or my teammates in an unflattering light and it will be the worst day of your life." He fought back, but his words hit my last nerve.

"Don't threaten me. You're the one with the problem, not the other way around." I pointed my finger and came close to actually touching his chest, and my heart fluttered at the thought. Well, maybe not my heart, but something much lower.

He had almost backed into the wall. "You don't get it, do you? No one wants you here."

I felt the anger surge and I was not going to let him win. "By _no one_ you mean you, right?"

"Yes." His icy stare fixed on mine. I felt the heat build and course through my body.

"What the hell did I ever do to you?" I asked; the distance between us closed and I felt the heat from his body engulf me.

"You showed up. " The depth of his stare morphed into a death glare. The anger was obvious; and hot.

I fixed my eyes on him, fighting the urge to curse – a product of my upbringing in South Boston. Then my body went on auto-pilot. I never thought about what I was doing, I only reacted to the pure, unbridled lust that had hit me the minute I saw him. I placed my hands on his chest and shoved him back into the wall a few feet behind him, and kissed him.

The moment our lips touched, it was like the fire that sought to consume me raged; the flames climbed and dared to intensify. His lips were firm and didn't yield to mine. For as much as it killed me to do it, I relented and pulled back. The moment I did, I saw the heat in his eyes, threatening and fierce. I took a step backwards, my hands still in the position they were in when I pushed him. I was terrified he would launch into another tirade when he did the unthinkable.

He took a step toward me and my heart slammed against my ribs. He looked at me as an animal would assess its prey right before the kill. His nostrils still flared, his thinned lips tightened, and his eyes narrowed. I felt my gut drop just before he put his hands on my shoulder, shoved me against the wall just off to my left shoulder; my back pressed flat against it, and launched himself against me. His lips collided against mine and his grip on my shoulders tightened. There was no thinking; only reacting. My body countered; my hands slid around his back and groped at his back, searching for the real him under multiple layers of fabric. I pushed my hand up to his neck and revealed in the feel of his bare skin as it touched mine.

He shifted on hand down from my shoulder and over the upper curve of my breast and I dropped my head in reaction. He moved his mouth quickly from mine and began his full on assault of my neck. His hand skimmed over my breast until his strong hand was cupping it, and gently massaging and driving me further to the edge. His body was flush against mine.

I scraped my nails along his exposed skin on his forearm and neck, frustrated at not feeling enough of his physique against my body. I could feel the heat, the electricity, the attraction rage between us and I was beyond on fire. His other hand slipped down my arm; his touch feather light and completely erotic. I gasped at the sensation the barest touch was stirring in me. His hand left my arm and latched on to my hips just before he placed his knee between mine, and nudged my legs apart just enough to press his thigh and hips against me; grinding ever-so-slightly. I threw my head back and a moan escaped me at the same time he growled. The primal sound in his voice and actions made me forget where we were. His kisses against my neck added a few nips along the curve of my neck; the grinding and the massaging of my breast continued and I was fast losing my ability to stand up.

He trailed kissed back up to my mouth, only after he placed a few kisses along the underside of my jaw; and I lost it. His lips pressed against mine, his tongue teased against my lips; never seeking entry, but meant to drive me wild. Shit. It worked. I snaked my hand down to the belt of his uniform and toyed with small dips lower and along the small of his back. My the other hand groped and grabbed at his hair, and assisted in keeping his head right where is it was – kissing me straight in to ecstasy.

And as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Edward pulled back, his eyes wild with desire and his body was breathless. He looked deeply into my eyes before he spoke. "Fuck!"

I stayed where I was, unable to move an inch of my body. I was sure he would return to kissing me--the unmistakable look in his eyes said that he wasn't done with me yet.

The sound of the door being flung open was like a bucket of cold water being dumped on us.

"Holy shit, did you see how pissed he was? Damn good thing we won." Seth spoke loudly, almost too loud if I were to make a guess.

"Damn," Emmett said laughing, "Boy was ready to light the fires, wasn't he?"

"Good thing that reporter wasn't around to see that," Billy laughed. _Oh, how wrong he was._

Edward looked at me, licked his lips, and then tried to smooth his hair and jersey. He was lucky we were hidden from the locker room and from the sight of his teammates. He studied my face and then that hard stare he'd gotten right before he kissed me returned. He started to walk past me, back into the main clubhouse. He paused for a moment, reached behind himself and collected my hand. He squeezed it gently, the walked down the short hall, turned the corner, and returned to his team mates, leaving me weak and wondering what the hell had just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Jakeward and Bethaboo bring you chapter two (and we also lament the end of the baseball season for the BoSox)  
**

**bethaboo:** wow this really sucks. I feel like we jinxed our boys.  
**jakeward:** No kidding, but hey, isn't that what this fic is all about? The non jinx-jinx?  
**bethaboo:** an excellent point. and in any case, we are going to rewrite the end of the season anyway. and I'm not putting away my #46 shirt anytime soon.  
**jakeward:** Neither am I. The season isn't over until we say it is, right B?  
**bethaboo:** nope!

yep, the Red Sox lost. yep, it sucks. now moving on to our now absolutely fantasy-based story that makes us smile even though the RL boys let us down.

first off, we are FLOORED at the amazing response to ch 1. wow, a TON of reviews and favorites and alerts. it turns out that a lot of you like baseball--and even if you don't like baseball (or don't even know how baseball is played, for that matter), you STILL like this story. and if you liked chapter 1--we guarantee you will like ch 2 because it is almost all hotness and almost ZERO baseball. woo hoo! (bethaboo thinks that nobody should be woo-hooing about no baseball, but thats another story).

Devadasi7 was awesome enough to start a thread for The Lucky Charm on twilighted. there's a link on bethaboo's ff profile to it. come check out our all our sexy baseball pics--bethaboo has a ridiculous and growing collection of red sox porn that she's collected for jakeward and she wants to share :)

also upcoming: a songlist as well as a googledoc full of baseball terms and explanations for those of you slogging through this with zero baseball knowledge.

* * *

BPOV

I stood frozen for a few moments, trying to get a grasp on what had happened. One minute we were fighting, we were at each other's throats. The next, we were -well - at each other's throats. I could not deny the attraction I felt when I first saw him in the clubhouse, but what had happened when we were alone was something entirely different.

I did not want it to end, and that scared me. Why was I so damned attracted to man that the minute he spoke, I was on edge? I had my doubts that we would ever be able to have a civil conversation.

But then what the hell was the kiss? Why did I kiss him? Right -to shut him up. And that kiss from him was . . . mind blowing. I didn't know where or when he would stop, and I didn't want him to.

When he did, I felt like the air left the room, never mind my body. When he grabbed my hand as he walked away, I was spent, confused, and filled with lust and rage. Why had he done any of it, and why did he stop?

It took a few moments to collect myself. As my limited composure returned, I made sure everything was positioned the way it should be; I smoothed my clothes, took stock of my badge and hair, and entered the locker room. I didn't make eye contact; I had been in locker rooms before and knew all too well what went on when the game was over. Players would strip down and hit the showers. No matter how much I told myself I didn't want to see him undressed, I knew deep down that I probably did.

I turned my head toward the wall and left the room. Sheltering my eyes as I turned the corner, I found the bench in the main area of the clubhouse where I had left my bag on, sat down, and pulled my notebook out. I wasn't sure what, if anything, I was going to write, but I had to appear busy.

I was using the first few games to become acquainted with the team; who they were, what position they played, and the like. I wasn't sure how long I sat there, staring at a blank page, when I heard my name called in a southern drawl-meet-twang that was fast becoming too familiar after only five hours.

"Hey darling, what are you doin' out here? The real stories in that other room." Jasper crossed to me and I could practically smell the self-confidence.

"Mm, well I was just getting my head straight. It's a lot to take in, this team." I started writing the first thought that popped into my head - _interviews._

Jasper leaned over and stole a glance at my note. "Interview, huh? Well, why don't you start with me."

"Are you free?" I asked keeping my tone even. All I could think about was that damned kiss. I could still feel his body pressed against mine, the belt from his uniform pressing against me, and his leg between mine. _Fuck!_

"Baby girl, I am _always_ free. Especially for a fine lady such as yourself." This was exactly what I was worried about - the jock-charm designed to make a girls panties drop, or explode. However, it was not going to work on me.

"Well I suppose we could set a time when we can meet and I can get some background information on you . . ."

He sized me up before he interrupted. "I couldn't agree more. How 'bout we have dinner together?" He pressed his thigh against mine and I blinked back my annoyance.

I stood up quickly and turned to look at him. "Mr. Whitlock-"

"Jasper, darlin'. For you, always Jasper." He stood up and stroked his hand ever so slightly over my upper arm.

I closed my eyes to collect my last remaining calm thought. I opened them only to find them trained on the locker room doorway where I saw Edward stand and watched the scene unfold.

He had showered and looked more unbelievable in his street clothes than he had in his uniform. His dark jeans pressed firmly against his hips and ass as they hugged his toned thighs. I felt my heart skip at the sight of him in the white, pressed, button down shirt. He had left the top three buttons undone and the sight of his strong neck reminded me again of what had happened not thirty minutes before.

_Shit, Bella. Keep your shit together. You here for a story, not to get laid. _

"Right, well, Jasper - I'm not sure-"

"Don't go turning me down. You simply can't say no to me, can you? It's just dinner." His hand dipped to my elbow and he gave a light tug toward him.

I looked back to where Edward was. His steel glare was enough to intimidate anyone, but it was fast becoming my kryptonite. One gaze in his eyes and I was undone. His eyes swirled with a mix of irritation and want; the same look I'd seen right after he kissed me. Instinctively, my hand reached up and I lightly touched where he had nipped my neck as he pressed me between the wall and his amazing body.

I stopped thinking.

His eyes bore into me, almost challenging me, taunting me, and pleading with me. Yet he stood stationary, never moving toward me; nor did he try to speak to me. It ticked me off. A girl can't possibly be kissed like that then left to wonder what was going on in a guy's head. Let alone have the guy just walk away. Hell no.

"I'm sorry, Jasper. I can't go out with you." I looked at Jasper as I said the words, then back to Edward. He seemed to relax if only a fraction and unless I'd been driven nuts by desire, I could swear I saw the corner of his mouth lift in to a small grin.

"Well how 'bout I take you to dinner with this crew then. You can watch us off the field. Get some meat for that story of yours," Jasper said and his voice dropped an octave. It was as if he knew he was being watched.

"Sure. Just let me know when-"

"Hell, darlin', we're going tonight. Guess it's your lucky day!" He practically beamed at me as his hand brushed my upper arm a second time.

"Oh."

"Now, Baby Girl, You know you have to eat and you have to interview the team so look at it like this - I just provided you with your first double."

While I should have been pissed at his comment, I could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. He had the look of the damned fairies in _Midsummer Night's Dream_; full of mischief and loving every minute of it.

He sensed my hesitation, let go of my arm, and said, "Sweetheart, it's gonna be me, and you, and about ten other guys. I promise to keep my hands to myself. My thoughts on the other hand...." He added wink at the end and looked at me with the biggest puppy dog look I had ever seen a grown man give.

I shot my eyes over to Edward, still standing like some sentry on duty, and I felt the urge to shake him up a bit. I wasn't sure what had happened between us. In addition, since he had made no effort to try to speak to me since the kiss, I could only think of one fast way to get him show what he really felt. Nothing says "I want you" like a case of jealousy.

"Yeah, um, that might be a good idea actually. If that's ok with the team," I offered. I took a step back to pick up my bag but Jasper stopped me. He leaned across me and picked it up for me. He return to eye level, passing by my body a little too close, and slow, for comfort. My eyes darted over to Edward and I saw his chest rise and fall just a bit faster.

_Well if you aren't going to explain yourself or, at the least, save me from "Tex's" advances, you deserve to be...whatever you are!_ I silently chastised Edward and his lack of clarity and action.

"Of course it is. We talked about it in the dugout, top of the ninth; among other things that is." He chuckled a bit, almost as though he nearly let me in a secret conversation. "Well alright. I got my car outside, what do you say I just drive you over and you can start your interview on the way?" Jasper hooked his arm around my shoulders and I was practically helpless to stop him from towing me out of the room.

I didn't look back, knowing it probably wouldn't do much good if I did. It was clear that Edward was not wanting, or willing, to talk to me about what had happened. "Sure, but only if you are clear this isn't a date," I reminded him firmly.

"Hell yeah. This is just two professionals sharing a ride," he said as he started walking. It took a few extra steps, but I finally matched his gait and we cleared the clubhouse and were off to dinner. He shot a glance down to me, winked, and said, "The date comes later."

The table was bursting with post game victory excitement and loud voices, booming with laughter. Jasper and I were the first to arrive and the host escorted us to the back room of the restaurant, obviously reserved for the team after home games. It reminded me of a scene from a mob movie; a large table set in the middle of the room with the chairs that surrounded it. The only difference between the room and the movie – the table wasn't round and I was certain no one would get their head bashed in with a bat.

Jasper pulled the chair next to the head of the table out for me and gently glided the chair back to the table after I sat. I wondered if it was possible for him to be a gentleman, or if this was a part of his act. I had been around my fair share of players, and concluded I just did not like them. Add to that the fact that my recent promotion to the head of the Boston Sports Blog for ESPN and I was certain my professional life could not be worse. I had scoffed when my boss told me that not only was I going to head the new division, but I was also going to be the sole individual covering the Red Sox season. Not just the current on – but every fucking season that followed. And that meant spring training as well. Sometimes fate just spits on your face and laughs.

I heard Jasper speaking and realized that I had completely zoned out on him. For as much as I might hate this new job, it was mine and I would have to find away to just deal with my issues where the sport was concerned.

"Can you believe that? A flagship ballpark, the last of the original parks, and we have rats," Jasper said as he tipped his beer back and took a long pull.

"I'm sorry, what?" Jasper motioned to a glass of wine in front of me. His action said it was for me. He had obviously ordered drinks while I was mentally wishing I were anywhere _but_ in Boston; not to mention having met, and made out with, one Edward Masen.

"Fenway. There are rats out in the scoreboard. Seriously, if Charlie offers you a tour of that, just say no."

I reached for the long stem of the glass and took a small sip. I was hell bent on staying as far from buzzed a possible. Especially if Edward showed up. "Rats?"

"Yup, they're pretty much everywhere at the park." Jasper repeated the bull on his beer.

"Yeah, even on the field," I muttered, the rim of the glass pressed against my lower lip. I hoped the comment would go unnoticed by Mr. Try-To-Say-No-To-My-Junk, but it didn't.

He placed his beer back on the table and shifted in his seat to face me more directly. "Yeah, what is the deal with you and Masen anyway? The last time I saw that much hate, we played the Rays last year with all those damn cowbells. I thought the 'Faithful' were gonna commit mass murder."

"Yeah, I'm sure that was tough," I replied briskly.

Jasper leaned back in his chair, his arm rested on the chair back, and he studied me until the unmistakable dimple of his amused state showed next to his mouth. "So that's how it is, is it? Even I can't win them all. I guess every once in a while, I gotta let the geek get the girl."

I huffed and fired off my best 'I'm a professional and I mean business' glare. "That is most certainly not how it is."

"Really?" he asked as he leaned forward in his chair, closer to the edge and in turn, to me. "Well maybe I can win this one." He collected my hand from table and rested it gently in his. "I could have sworn there was something goin' on between the two of you, but I'm happy than I can mention at the fact that I'm wrong."

I felt the uneasiness settle in my shoulders, but I shook it off. I just had to get him back on track. "Mr. Whit- sorry, Jasper- what is it about this sport that called to you as a child?"

"Time for that later. So there is nothing between you two then?" he asked as he leaned in further, our faces were inches away, and I knew what he was going to try to do.

"I'm a professional," I said forcefully.

"I bet you are," he said as he lowered his voice and tilted his head, his hand moved from his thigh and rested on mine.

_Fuck._

I saw his eyes shift between my lips and eyes as he leaned in closer. I was seconds away from Jasper kissing me when the door flew open, and the rest of the team walked in the room. I turned my head to watch the players enter and saw Edward in the doorway; nostrils flared and that fuckhot death glare was back in his eyes.

I was screwed.

There was no way I was going to be able to work with this team and do what I was assigned to do if every time I saw Edward I wanted to either fight him or fuck him.

I pulled back as far from Jasper as I could. Jasper spotted where I was looking, let go of my hand, and slowly eased back in his seat; his hand still on my thigh. I saw Edward's jaw flex and his chest rise and fall with the deep breath he was taking. Ball players were all about the visual psyche out, and I was stuck in the middle of one between Edward and Jasper; I was sure of it.

Jasper squeezed my thigh slightly and removed his hand, reached for his beer, and never took his eyes off Edward. Seth entered the room, clapped Edward solidly on his back and brought him out of his unyielding stare.

"Always the last to arrive, man. Why is that?" Seth asked as he tightened his grip on Edward's shoulder and walked him to the opposite end of the table. "You know, you're starting to take longer than my woman does."

"Shut it, Seth. I'm not in the mood." Edward claimed the chair at the head of the table, pulled the chair back, and sat down slowly, never taking his eyes off mine.

"So, Bella. What do you want to know about me that we didn't cover in the car?" Jasper asked as he tilted his chair back to rest on only two legs.

My eyes darted to the ground then back to Edward, sure that once I broke the connection, he would not still be looking at me. So not the case. I blinked hard and turned my attention back to Jasper. "Well, um, how about you tell me about you're first year with the Sox. That might be good."

I heard him prattle on about his stats and successes, but my head could not shake whatever the hell was happening between Edward and me. The urge to get into another verbal brawl with him was too tempting, if only to be kissed again.

_Damn it, Bella. Just stop! This is not helping. _

"Then in 2007, I earned the ALCS MVP award. Pissed a few people off, but what can I say. It was tough won - I'll tell you that. What the hell else? Let's see… last May I recorded my 1,000th career strikeout. That was pretty freakin' monumental, let me tell ya."

"Yeah, I remember that," I answered absentmindedly. It didn't register that I had said it until I heard his reply.

"Really? Now how is that? You seem to hate all things baseball, and yet you would remember something that was a real specific moment for this team; not to mention to me."

_Oh crap. Think fast._

I felt the gears move at one-hundred miles-per-hour, reaching for anything to change the subject. It was obvious Jasper was smart, despite his "Hollahback Boy" tendencies. I could only think of one thing to say, to try, to do. I knew it was wrong the minute I thought it, but I couldn't think of anything else that would work.

"So, tell me about this date you mentioned. You seem quite sure that I would go out with you," I questioned, leaning slightly into the table. The look in his eyes changed immediately and all thoughts of any previous conversation were absorbed and lost to his womanizing ways.

"Aw, now see, I knew you would come around." He leaned closer to me and smiled; the corner of his mouth shot up.

"Hmm, we'll see, won't we?" I asked, laying it on thick. In that moment, I didn't care about the fact that I was misleading Jasper, or the fact that Edward was without a doubt glaring at me from the opposite end of the table. I had averted his question, and that was precisely what I needed to have done.

In the time between placing our dinner order and it actually arriving at the table, I had managed to break free of Jasper's constant attention long enough to start my interview of Emmett McCarty, the teams Designated Hitter.

I was so worried about what the hell had Edward glaring at me and Jasper's constant touches, that my notes were starting to read like a page from Wikipedia; the most basic details that any fan worth their weight would know. It was clear that the interview just was not going to happen, and I was pissed. I was not there to be wined and dined in front of the entire team by the one guy I didn't want it from.

_What? What the hell?_

I shook my head at the absurd comment that had entered my mind. There was no way I wanted a single thing from Edward save for being as far from him and his nasty attitude as possible. There was not a solitary redeeming quality to the man off the field.

_Right, except how he kissed you and how his hands felt on you._

I was become more irritated with myself; I had to pull my shit together. There was no way I was going to let one person unravel me, or my professional life.

_Except he already unraveled you when his hands were on you and he was biting your neck._

I felt my rage build and I snapped my focus back to Jasper, who moved a lot closer to me than he was before I started the failed Emmett interview.

He reached a hand out and cupped my shoulder. He gently stroked my shoulder then down to my elbow as he spoke. "You okay there, darlin'?"

I felt the urge to fling his hand off me, not wanting any man beside Edward to touch me - a thought that further fueled my building anger. Instead, I choked back the action, smiled weakly and said, "Yes. I am, just a really long day."

Jasper collected my hand from where it rested on my lap, and placed it between both of his. I was keenly aware of the calluses and rough, dry skin of his palms and fingers. How completely different from Edward's hand, which had been unrealistically soft for a ball player.

"Listen, we can get out of here right now and I can just take you home and maybe-"

"No! I just – I'm sorry, Jasper," I started as I placed my other hand on top of his in a weak attempt to politely avoid his potential manwhore offer. "It's like I said, it's a been a really long day."

He leaned in closer still, and moved his top hand from mine and placed it on the back of my chair; the action brought him even closer to my face, my lips, and me. I gulped and tried to maintain a professional exterior while my heart and mind raced. And not in a good way.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Masen's been staring you down since he got here, now would it?" Jasper asked as he brought his lips along the side of my face; his breath skimmed over my cheek and heated my ear.

"What?" I asked as I pulled my head ever so slightly away from his.

"Honey, that boy either wants to kill you or marry you. He's been throwing me the nastiest looks I've ever seen since he sat down, and I think we all saw how he talked to you in the clubhouse earlier today. However, what I can't figure out is what happened after he got back to the clubhouse and before the game ended. Care to enlighten me?"

I felt my heart pound and my palms started to sweat. "Nothing happened –well, short of round two of his 'I hate reporters' tirade."

"If that's what you want me to believe, I won't pry. My momma didn't raise a fool." Jasper pat my knee and moved back to relax in his chair.

As he did, I stole a glance down the table to see Edward, completely seething. Our eyes locked and his death glare reduced, if only the smallest bit. Concern slowly started to register in his eyes, and I refused to deal with his hot and cold response to me a moment longer.

"Excuse me, Jasper," I said softly. I hadn't meant for the exchange to be anything more than polite, but given how breathless I was from the look I had just seen, I could not control my heart from slamming against my chest.

He stood up as I left the table. As I started to leave the room, he reached for my arm. "You alright, baby girl?"

I offered a tight smile of feigned reassurance, he released my arm, and l left the room.

I found myself standing in the small, darkened hallway that led to the restrooms; a small payphone separated the two doors. I leaned against the facing wall, my head crashed back harder than I expected, but I welcomed the ache. Hell, I would welcome anything that challenged the other things I was feeling.

My head was stuck in a maelstrom of thoughts, every one of them centered on the same thing: Edward.

I couldn't figure out what the hell hold he had over me when he clearly hated me, and yet kissed me the way he had. It didn't make sense, none of it did. One second he was in my face, arguing with me. Then he kissed me in return after I'd realized the gravity of the mistaken action I'd taken to shut his ass up. When his lips pressed against mine, I was lost and willing to give him anything he would have asked of me. Never mind the confusion of him reaching for my hand as he walked past me. That alone stole my breath away, for both good and bad reasons.

I took several deep breaths, trying to clear my head of Edward, Jasper, and the wine before I made my way back to the table. I was nearly composed when I felt the weight of a hand rest on my shoulder. I was certain it was Jasper, but as it wasn't groping me, I quickly realized it wasn't. There was an element to the touch that stole my breath and my common sense along with it.

"Um, are you ok?" I heard Edward ask softly and with an unusual amount of compassion to his voice.

I pinched my eyes tightly before opening them. As much as I did not want to, I turned to see him standing along my right side. Shit! He blocked the exit.

"Like it matters to you? I've seen the looks you've been firing off all night." I hadn't meant to come off so abrasive, but it was always fire and ice with him; for reasons that had never been explored, but I knew if one of us caved, they would be.

"Well – I, I know we haven't been - shit. Look, if it's Jasper that you want, fine. But you really should be warned -there really isn't much lower than him in baseball." His eyes were full of concern, but edged with a darker quality I had never seen in a man's eyes before. While his eyes pulled me in, his words repelled me.

"Really?" I felt the anger finally boil over. I was done with this round robin and it was going to end. "He's been a perfect gentleman this entire evening, but that isn't what you want to hear, is it?"

"Bella listen – I just meant, aw hell. I just don't want to see Whitlock get his hooks into you. I've seen him do it before and he'll just use you."

"Intresting. You seem like the last person who should be dispensing advice on using people." I knew venom laced my words, but I didn't give a shit.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He spoke harshly, and the rough edge to his voice ignited something that was becoming increasingly familiar when he was near me.

"You would have fucked me up against the wall if the team hadn't walked in and here you are trying to convince me that Jasper is the manwhore?"

"I am _not_ a manwhore!" His words carried with them a menacing edge, and I could feel the heat begin to pool just as it had in the clubhouse.

"No, of course not. You're the good boy who can't finish what he starts and then gets pissed off when someone else tries," I spat the words out as loudly as I could in the cramped hall without drawing attention to us.

"That is not what happened," Edward hushed his voice, and brought his hand down to hold my elbow. I felt the heat from the connection ignite my traitorous body. "Listen, I am just as confused as you are about what went down in the clubhouse, truthfully I am, but I didn't come find you to start fighting about it."

"Well you sure as hell didn't come over here for anything else," I said as I wrenched my elbow from his grasp. I stood inches from him, wanting so desperately to kiss him once again.

He breathed harshly, his eyes once again shot between mine, then my lips. I leaned in closer, completely unsure of what it was that kept pulling me into his orbit. I could feel his sweet breath wash over my cheek; so inviting and so oddly needed. I closed my eyes, knowing what his kiss felt like and wanting to welcome it once again. I felt my gut drop, my heart started to slam, and I braced myself.

His breath was upon me, so close I could feel the heat from him penetrate my defenses. I parted my lips slightly and waited.

"Shit, this is all wrong," he muttered.

Startled, my eyes flew open to see him raking his hand across the back of his neck. He tried to avoid me but knew he couldn't.

"Bella, listen-" he started and his voice sounded softer than it ever had, but I refused to let him finish.

"No. You just proved my point," I said, humiliation fueling my actions. I pushed toward him, my shoulder clipped his, and I quickly returned to the dining room; emotionally spent and sexually frustrated.

* * *

EPOV

Well, _fuck_.

When I'd pictured me going over to Bella and calmly, rationally, logically explaining to her that Whitlock's flirtations were a dime a dozen and _not, _I repeat, _not _to be taken seriously, I hadn't imagined it going quite that way.

I certainly hadn't anticipated her yelling at me again. It seemed, as far as Bella Dwyer went, I was doomed to do the wrong thing. I reminded myself for the millionth time in the last six hours that I had zero interest in doing things right—and that I also had absolutely nothing against Jasper snuggling up to her.

_Liar._

That little voice taunted me just a little louder as I sulked back to the table, and slumped into the chair next to Seth, who was methodically demolishing a steak the size of a hubcap. Most of the team had already left, leaving Seth, who could eat for hours, and me, and of course, the happy couple at the end of the table.

The issue was that my two brains were telling me something completely different regarding Bella. One brain was smart enough not to want _anything _to do with her insufferable attitude or nasty, cutting remarks. The other brain, unfortunately, wasn't all that bright, and wanted things that it had no business wanting. Like Bella pressed up against me, squirming and moaning the way she had been just this afternoon.

After all, she _had _kissed me first--and once she'd done that, I'd just been done. There was no fucking way I could hold myself back once the inevitable happened. The world, I was beginning to realize, was conspiring for me to become involved with Bella, whether I liked it or not, and Jasper's ridiculous flirtations were only adding fuel to my fire.

"You going to tell me why you _still_ look like you want to kill someone?" Seth asked, shoveling mashed potatoes down his throat at an alarming speed.

I didn't want to talk about the reason for my bad mood. Let everyone think I was still pissed about the game. "How do you eat all that?" I asked, for maybe the millionth time since I'd known him. Seth was small, maybe only 5'7", with a small wiry frame, but the way he could put food away was a continual amazement to all of us.

"Need my energy," he said, between bites. "Now tell me why you're pissed--I know it's not the ejection, so fess up. Is it you and that reporter?"

"Her name is _Bella_," I repeated, grinding my teeth. I didn't want to examine my own reasons for why it was suddenly so imperative that Bella be more than just_ that reporter_.

Seth turned away from his plate, and looked me straight in the eye. "So it's like that, huh?" He sounded only vaguely surprised, and while I tried to pretend like I had no idea what he was talking about, it was clear Seth was already convinced.

"Well. Yes and no." I pushed a few spears of broccoli around on my plate, and tried desperately not to look up as I saw Bella return to the table out of the corner of my eye. She sat back down next to Jasper and within five seconds, was laughing at some joke the douchebag had just made.

"Either it's yes or it's a no," Seth said, so calmly I felt like wringing his neck. _I_ was usually the calm one. _I _was usually the one that others turned to for advice. "So which is it?"

I lost the battle I was having with myself, and glanced down the table at where Bella and Whitlock-the-asshole were looking way too cozy. "No," I said in a hard, resolute voice.

"Looks like a lot like _yes _from this angle," Seth argued.

"It's not," I snapped; my temper, which was already frayed, was unraveling by the second.

Seth shrugged and returned to his mashed potatoes. "You're wound tighter than a top. Maybe you just need to get laid."

I choked on the water I'd been drinking. Seth continued, blithely unaware that I was beginning to see red, "You seem to have a thing for that. . .I mean, _Bella_; maybe she could help you out with that."

"She isn't a fucking groupie, Seth," I hissed. "She's a _reporter_."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "And? You two seem to have something going on."

I couldn't deny that he had a point. Regardless of whether I liked it _or _her, we did seem to have "something" going on. And I knew I sure as hell hated the thought of her and Whitlock together. Silently, I considered the possibility. Maybe I could even see it as a civil duty; keep her away from Jasper while doing everything I could to stay loose for the rest of the season.

"All I'm saying, dude," Seth said, "is that it's not healthy to be celibate."

I choked again, vaguely embarrassed I was even having this conversation. "I'm _not _celibate. I'm fucking _discerning, _unlike Jasper the whore." I tried to ignore that Jasper had a lock of Bella's hair wound around his hand. I wanted to fucking dismember him for even daring to touch her--to treat her like she was just there for the taking.

"You mean," Seth said, looking up from his plate and gesturing expansively with a potato-covered fork in Jasper and Bella's direction, "_that _kind of 'discerning'?"

My fists clenched and I couldn't help glowering at the conscience sitting next to me. Seth looked back, completely unconcerned that I wanted to pretty much murder him. The good thing about Seth was that after making it in the majors when you were completely the wrong physical type, nothing seemed hard--even dealing with a major Masen snit. I took a deep breath, attempting to calm down.

"She's not going to want to talk to me," I said hesitantly. "And I don't know what I . . ._what_ I want. I don't even really _like _her, Seth."

He shrugged. "Who says you have to _like _her? You think I like Rachel all the time? Bella seems like a fairly level-headed girl. I'm sure she'd be okay with whatever you give her."

Somehow I doubted this, but then I remembered how when I'd kissed her, she'd nearly attacked me, every muscle of her slim form tense with longing. Seth was right. She wanted me; I wanted her--what was _really _stopping me from taking her?

"I can't treat her like a groupie. Not like the patented Whitlock use and discard maneuver."

"Then don't," Seth said simply. "You're a good guy. You'll do the right thing by her. Whatever it is."

I was running out of excuses. "She doesn't. . ." I said lamely. "She's uh. . .kind of _pissed _at me right now, I think."

Seth looked at me like I was a four year old child. "We all get pissed at you, Masen. We all manage to get over it. Now, get your ass over there and apologize to the pretty lady before Jasper shoves his tongue down her throat."

I threw some twenties on the table and got up just as Bella did. Our eyes met across the long expanse of wood, and I gave her what I hoped was a conciliatory smile. Clearly, it didn't work because she just glared at me like I was the last person on earth she'd want to speak to, and flounced off towards the front door.

I caught up with her on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, profoundly grateful that she was alone and not waiting for Jasper to escort her back to his place for a little groupie fun.

And that's when it hit me. _That's _why she was so fucking pissed. I'd accused her of basically hanging around the clubhouse to get guys, then I'd turned around and used her to prove it. My skin crawled at the thought of apologizing, but I knew it was necessary. Somehow, I _needed _her, though I didn't understand at all the reason why.

"Bella," I said, and she turned around, her face an implacable mask.

"What do you want?" she sighed. "I'm tired and kind of sick of fighting with you."

"Me too," I said eagerly, thinking that this was a great opening. She didn't want to fight with me anymore--what could be better than me agreeing with her? After all, I could think of a _lot _better use of our energy. _But you can't say that, Masen, _I reminded myself, _be smooth, but not like slimy Whitlock smooth._ "I wanted to catch you before you left, and, well, apologize for my behavior today. It was really inexcusable."

A tiny furrow creased her forehead, as if she were confused. "You're apologizing for . . .getting thrown out of the game? You know," she continued, "I wasn't going to write about it. If you want to apologize for that, apologize to your teammates. Or to the city of Boston."

"No, no, no," I laughed. "Not about getting ejected. I'm sorry, Bella, that I treated _you _so poorly."

A suspicious look began to dawn over her fragile features. "What treatment was so poor, exactly?"

I continued on, totally unaware that I was currently digging myself into a hole the size of Yawkey Way. "I shouldn't have . . ._mauled _you like that, Bella. I'm really, truly sorry. It was totally unacceptable behavior." I smiled then, sure that she would smile back and all would be forgiven.

_Wrong-o._

Her eyes narrowed and suddenly, they were blazing hot with temper and yet, the precise temperature of Antarctica. "Let me get this straight, _Mr. Masen_. You're apologizing for kissing me?"

I froze, vaguely aware that something was not _quite _going right here. "Well uh. . .yes?"

"I kissed you first," she snapped, looking at me like I was a bug she wanted to squash under her shoe, and then she turned towards the street.

"Bella," I began again, knowing that in my apology I had somehow managed to muck things up worse than before, and knowing, with a deep certainty, that I had to make this right.

She turned back towards me, her long ponytail nearly whipping me in the face. "Listen, you've made it _perfectly _clear that you want nothing to do with me, despite your little act earlier. So I'll leave you alone, and you leave me alone. No apology necessary." Her voice grew hard and cracked a little at the end, and slowly I realized that I'd hurt her feelings. She wasn't just angry--she was hurt--and it was all my fault. Typical. This was why I never got involved with women--I tended to say the wrong things and not understand that until I'd dug myself into a hole that was impossible to climb out of. I was beginning to feel the feel the walls close in on me as Bella turned back to the street, obviously wanting nothing more than her ride to arrive.

"I. . .I. . .I think you misunderstood," I stammered out.

"No, I get it." She didn't even turn around--just raised her voice, the hard edge developing a crystalline brittleness. "You wanted to prove I _was _a groupie, just like you said. And well . . ." She shrugged, trailing off because she clearly didn't know how to describe the kiss we'd shared.

"You're not," I insisted loudly, annoyed that she purposefully misunderstood everything I said so she could get her panties in a twist. "I was wrong, _okay_?"

A taxi pulled to the curb, and Bella was at the door in a second, wrenching it open, every tense, angry line in her slim form communicating just how much she couldn't wait to get away from me. But in that second, that one brief moment of vulnerability, I'd seen a flash of something in Bella that I _liked_--and this was new. I couldn't, I decided, let her get away while we were both so angry still. I had to _make _her understand.

I grabbed the edge of the taxi's door before she could slam it shut behind herself, and as she gaped at me, I slid in next to her.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" she spluttered, looking as angry as I'd ever seen her--which considering the two fights we'd already had today, was saying something.

"I have to explain," I insisted to Bella, thrusting a wad of bills at the cab driver. "Now, tell him where you want to go."

Bella glared. "_No_. Get the _fuck_ out of my cab."

I noticed the driver looking in his rearview mirror as if we were his favorite soap opera. Typically, I hated being recognized, but I figured this was probably the one situation where it could help me out. And like clockwork, I saw the realization light up his face.

"Dude, you're Edward Masen!" he exclaimed, getting excited. "Can I have your autograph?"

"Of course," I said, unable to prevent myself from giving Bella a semi-smug smile. She had retreated to the far side of the seat, hugging the edge, and had crossed her arms over her chest.

"Typical, a media whore," she scoffed bitterly. "If he gives you his autograph, will you get him out of my cab?" she asked the driver.

But the driver ignored her in favor of morphing into Red Sox fan mode. I signed a few receipts while Bella rolled her eyes and reached for the door handle.

"No, wait," I screeched, panic streaking through me. I couldn't let her get away.

"You won't leave me alone, so I'm just going to have to leave _you _alone."

"You don't want to be left alone," I said, trying for a reasonable tone. "You _kissed _me, remember?"

"A form of Tourett's," Bella snapped. "I go around kissing random people. You, _Jasper_. . ."

Anger coalesced into a hard ball inside my chest. That fucker had kissed her. Ace pitcher or not, when I was done with Bella, I was going to go to his condo and demolish him.

"Enough," I growled. "Give the god damn driver your fucking address."

Bella said nothing, and I knew from the stubborn glint in her dark eyes that we would be sitting here all night waiting before she gave up the tactical advantage.

"Fine." I grabbed the purse sitting on the seat, and before she could react, I had it open, wrenching her wallet from the depths of the bag. I pulled out her driver's license and read off the address.

The cab pulled away from the curb, and as I returned the purse to the seat between us, I thought I saw a flash of pity in the driver's eyes. Sure, it had been an effective way of getting the information, but I had to admit, eying her warily, that perhaps it had been a bit. . .high-handed. If she'd been pissed before, she was going to be livid now.

And sure enough, when I looked over at her, Bella's mouth was open in wordless fury. Shooting me a glare that would have melted the face off most weaker men, she turned towards the window, clearly deciding that the silent treatment was the best way of expressing her rage.

Ten minutes of uncomfortable, strained silence later, the cab pulled up to a row of quaint brownstones. The second the car stopped, Bella had the door open and seconds later, was on the sidewalk, heading up the stairs to her front door. However, I wasn't considered one of the fastest players in the league for nothing, and I was only a moment behind her.

Bella was fumbling in her purse for her keys, obviously trying to get inside before I could catch her, but I was too fast. She glared over her shoulder at me, as I stood behind her, patiently waiting as she dug in her bag for the keys.

"You live here?" I asked in surprise. I had thought that Bella's assignment in Boston was temporary, but this was clearly her permanent residence.

Bella said nothing, though I did get another rather impressive glare. "It's nice," I said, trying to make up for the fact that she probably hated me even more now than she had before.

"You have to understand, I have to explain. I'm _not_ sorry I kissed you. It's more like. . .I'm sorry I was an ass. I . . .don't typically like reporters and well. . .you rubbed me the wrong way."

"And then what," Bella snapped back, "I rubbed you the right way?"

"Actually, yes." I took a step closer, and Bella retreated, her back nearly bumping up against the door. She was rather short, and I took perverse delight in the fact that she had to crane her neck up to meet my gaze.

"Save it; I'm not interested."

"See," I said, taking another step closer to her and smoothing a tendril of hair away from her face, "I'm not exactly sure that's the case." Her back was now flush against the door, as she'd backed up in a misguided attempt to get away from me, but I had almost completely closed the remaining distance between us.

"Don't touch me," she bit off, but the words carried a lot less heat than before. I knew I was beginning to wear her down. She felt the attraction too--it was all a matter of getting her to forget just how angry she was at me and at the same time, convincing her that acting on said attraction was a good idea.

With any other woman, this wouldn't have been all that difficult, but with Bella, I felt like I was always half a step behind her. She was smart and capricious and way too clever for her own good--or mine, for that matter. I only had one weapon at my disposal, and while I definitely wasn't adverse to using it, I wanted to wait until just the right moment.

I took a deep breath and swung at my last pitch. "I'm not sure I like you--you've pissed me off from the moment you walked into the clubhouse but maybe that's because I didn't like what you did to me."

"What _I _did to you?" Bella scoffed, clearly gearing up for another round of insults and nastiness and it's-totally-all-your-fault-that-I-constantly-have-PMS. But just like earlier, when she'd kissed me to get me to shut up, I decided I was just done listening and I kissed her, swallowing her words.

Bella struggled for about half a second, then melted into me, unwinding against my body like hot caramel. I'd had a feeling she wouldn't have the self-control to fight me off, but her surrender was even sweeter than I could have imagined.

Her lips were hot and urgent against mine and in my desperation to get even closer to her body, I pinned her up against the door, my hands lifting her flush against me. She didn't resist--and she even encouraged me by wrapping her arms tightly around my neck and winding her legs around my waist. She was small and compact, and felt fucking _perfect_, I thought as I kissed her deeply, sliding my hands up her torso, under her shirt. Her skin was smooth and hot to the touch and I gasped into her mouth as it singed the tips of my fingers.

Maybe, I thought as my other hand drifted down to the heart-stoppingly perfect curve of her ass, I did need to get laid. My cock throbbed as I slid her hard against me, and her hands tangled in the hair at the back of my neck. I heard her groan once, then twice, as I shifted her again.

Her nails dug hard into my shoulders as she ground into me, the friction of her scorching hot flesh burning the world around us away until it had condensed to just me and the woman writhing against me.

It felt fucking amazing, but I wanted _more; _I wanted to rip her clothes off and enjoy every inch of her smooth, pale skin pressed up against me.

I tangled my hand in the hem of her shirt and yanked up, desperately trying to feel more of her, but instead of one of those hot-as-fuck sounds she'd been making, Bella squeaked in alarm instead.

I broke away from her mouth, panting, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. Had I hurt her? And that's when it hit me.

I'd been _this close _to screwing Bella against her front door.

Fucking hell.

"What?" Bella gasped out, her knees buckling as I tried to set her back down on the ground and pull us back to cold, hard reality.

I leaned against the brick, trying to catch my breath and pretend like I wasn't about to explode out of my pants. I couldn't even remember the last time a woman had had such a visceral effect on me. I knew I had to have her--whether I liked her or not.

"You know," I said, aiming for a calm, conversational tone and ending up somewhere in way-too-eager territory, "we have to stop doing it like this."

"Like what?" Bella asked with a ragged sigh as she picked up the purse she'd dropped and started rummaging for her keys. Clearly, her anger and frustration had simply been incinerated in the conflagration of near-sex that had nearly burned both of us alive because now, she was calm and absolutely matter-of-fact.

"I'm not going to lie," I confessed. "I think it's pretty obvious I want you. And you want me." Bella shot me an amused, smoky glance, but she didn't argue. "So maybe we should do something about it. Other than against your front door."

Bella didn't answer right away. She finally unearthed her keys and was unlocking the door before she turned to me. "I don't know, to be honest," she admitted. "I _do _want you. I can't exactly say why I want you, but it would be foolish to deny it. I just. . .I don't want to fuck this up."

"What do you mean?" I sensed that this conversation was going downhill, and I grasped desperately at the shred of hope that I had left. "You won't. We can keep it, you know, a secret."

Bella rolled her eyes at me, her key still in the door. "So would it be just sex or not?"

That was the one question I hadn't wanted her to ask, because at this point, I was pretty sure she wasn't going to like my answer.

I shrugged. "We can figure it out."

Bella's gaze narrowed, and I felt the heat of her eyes on me. I could sense her temper was flaring before she even spoke. "I don't like the sound of that."

"What do you want me to say?" I said. "I am _trying _to be honest with you. I'm not sure I like you; you're not sure you like me. But we sure as hell want to have sex."

Bella looked me over from head to toe for a split second, right before she wrenched open the door. "That's not enough," she said quietly, then slammed it in my face.

And so I was left standing on the stoop of her townhouse with a boner that wouldn't quit, a suddenly bottomless pit of sexual frustration, and a head full of questions--back, almost exactly, at the same place I'd been at the end of the game.

Well, _fuck_.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Jakeward and bethaboo present ch 3! Sorry this was kind of a long time coming. . .it's long (almost 10k) and bethaboo also had to write a totally different, difficult story for the latest Support Stacie Auction. If you like AU, check it out--it's called Undisclosed Desires.**

**I'm not going to promise and say we'll update faster (though I am fairly sure we will and its definitely our intention to). We are also trying a new experiment with switching/alternating POVs this chapter. We didn't start out intending to do that, but it just kind of happened that way, and we think it works pretty well. Let us know what you think!**

**BTW, Jacoby Ellsbury changed his number from #46 to #2. Jakeward and I are unable to comment on this preposterous decision because we were not consulted (aka we're still pouting). Does this make our #46 Ellsbury shirts collector's items someday?**

**Oh, and Tito, if you're reading this. Freaking sign Jason Bay already.**

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EPOV

There was no way around it. I'd tried, and tried, and tried some more to justify sleeping with Bella Dwyer even though I didn't really like her. I'd even considered lying to her and telling her that no, I'd lied—I did like her for more than just the smoking hot chemistry that seemed to explode between us—but while I might have acted like a total schmuck with her for the entirety of our acquaintance, I really wasn't a jerk when it came to women.

I was only a jerk when it came to Bella, for some strange and inexplicable reason, but regardless, lying was out.

The day after my fight with Bella we'd dropped a game to the Jays. It had been a close one, and I'd been sure that our handful of runs would be enough until the opposing batting order had declared open season on our bullpen. Our guys were good and so that didn't happen often, but it happened enough for me to gnash my teeth in frustration. I hated it when there was nothing I could do but sit back and watch as we lost. I'd been playing baseball for two decades now, and I thought I'd come to terms with the fact that sometimes, a game being a win or a loss wasn't up to me—but yesterday it had been more unpalatable than it'd been in years. I told myself that my frustration had nothing to do with the fact that Bella had been watching in the stands, no doubt pursing her lips and deciding that we were overrated, but I knew I was lying to myself.

I hated that we'd lost, but even more I hated that I cared what she thought of me and of the team.

I also hated that she'd turned me into an angsty sissy, tossing and turning all night long, unable to sleep or to get the taste of her out of my mouth and my head. Finally I'd packed up my stuff and come to Fenway early, determined to work out some of the kinks cluttering my mind with an extra-long batting practice. Unfortunately it became obviously fairly quickly that my hang-ups were more emotional than physical, as I hit ball after ball, drilling them into the Monster and higher, but my mood remained absolute crap.

Jasper wandered out on the field, a couple hours before the game, as I was running drills, and abruptly, but not surprisingly, my mood worsened. Whitlock and I had never been close friends, but with the advent of Bella, we had seemingly declared war on each other over her. Personally, I was pretty damn sure I was winning—though I wasn't even sure I wanted to—and this had pissed Whitlock off. He wasn't used to not getting a woman he wanted and we both knew it.

I ran back to the first baseline, and Jasper was waiting for me, his posture deceptively laidback as he fingered a baseball in his throwing hand. There was activity behind him, in the bullpen, and I thought he'd probably come down to set the relievers straight, only to find something more interesting—baiting me about Bella.

"Have some extra energy there, Masen?" he drawled, a smirk spreading across his face.

I nodded sharply, hating that I had to acknowledge that I'd struck out with her two nights ago, but glad that, at the very least, Jasper hadn't gotten any from her either. We were both, it seemed, in the doghouse. Bella didn't seem to like Jasper's Southern charm very much and that explained his position, but mine was my own damn fault—and that was the last thing I wanted him to discover.

"How's my girl Bella?" Jasper asked again, apparently prepared to bait me any number of times until I snapped. I ground my teeth together and attempted to ignore him as I grabbed my bag from the sideline and tried to walk back to the clubhouse entrance. But Whitlock stopped me, his arm held out warningly, as if he wasn't going to tolerate silence as my only answer.

_Well, that's just too damn bad_, I thought as I eyed him, _he can fucking deal with it._

"What do you want, Whitlock?" I sighed, attempting to reign in my temper.

"Just to talk. You know, like teammates." He looked so innocent, standing there, a single eyebrow raised, but I knew he was full of bullshit. He was dying to find out what was going on between me and Dwyer, and there were two problems with this:

I knew I didn't want to tell him. Better to keep him guessing and off-balance.

Even if I _did _want to tell him, I was pretty sure I had no idea what was going on.

"Things are fine," I said shortly, refusing to give him any of the dirt he wanted.

"Fine, my ass," Jasper crowed, a triumphant smile flashing across his face. "If things were fine, you wouldn't be out here hitting the crap out of the ball and running you were chasin' some really _good _tail. Oh wait. I forgot; you don't chase tail. You just chase Dwyer." I hated that Whitlock equated Bella with some mindless blond bimbo groupie.

"I'm not chasing her," I said and I knew I sounded pissed. Hell, I _was _pissed. What did I care if Whitlock knew it? He'd been baiting me, after all.

Whitlock's smirk reminded me that he knew good and well that I'd been chasing, but not succeeding. As if I needed his reminder. My body was tight and tense, and though I hated admitting it, Seth had been right the other night—I needed to get laid.

Maybe if I'd gotten into Bella's apartment the other night, Jasper wouldn't be getting to me this way. Instead, he was only reminding me of what I _hadn't _gotten in yet.

"You like her." Jasper said it all pussy, as if I was whipped already. Which I wasn't. Not in a million years.

I shrugged. "She's hot." Except that it was a hell of a lot more than that. Hot women chased after me every day of my life practically. Bella had some indefinable fire inside her that made me want her, where I'd just ignored the rest of the pack.

"And here I thought that you were going to go all rainbow and shit on me, buddy. Good for you."

"Whatever floats your boat, Whitlock," I snapped. He'd worn me down to just about my last nerve, though Bella herself had done a number on the rest.

"I have to go get ready," I told him testily. "I have a game tonight, unlike _some _of us."

As I stalked past, I heard him mumble under his breath, "Let's hope you show up and actually _play_."

_Don't give in, Masen, _I lectured myself as I clenched my fist on the handle of my bat, _he's just trying to get a rise out of you. Don't give him the fucking satisfaction. Take it out on the Jays_.

* * *

BPOV

Ok. So that hadn't gone the way I thought it would. I never thought he would get into the cab with me, and I sure as hell hadn't seen him doing what he did on the front step of my building. Correction, what we'd both done. And I wished I could lie and say I hadn't wanted to take him in my apartment and fuck him until neither of us could think or walk straight, but what would that actually prove? That he was right? That I was wrong?

He had made it clear that he didn't know what the attraction was between us, but it couldn't be denied that what was driving us both was sexual chemistry. But that just wasn't enough. It never was and I'd told myself when I got this job that I would not fall victim to the standard crap that pro athletes pulled on women. I'd felt something greater when I first saw him, something I couldn't put my finger on or wrap my mind around. But it was like a cord that pulled me to him. I felt it when I watched him play, heard him in the clubhouse after he was ejected, when Jasper talked to me at dinner, and I felt him before I saw him as I waited for the cab.

It was clear he was effected by the same pull, or at least I thought he was. Then he all but suggested a one-night stand with me after the most intense heavy petting I'd ever been a party to. For as much as I wanted to drag him by his shirt through the door, I couldn't. We both needed to figure this out, and hopefully understand what was happening between us before we both did something we would regret.

It was the longest night of my life. I tossed in bed for hours before finally succumbing to sleep near three. My dreams were filled with repeats of the kisses and the front door, and I woke more frustrated than when I'd gone to sleep. The frustration oddly enough, wasn't sexual. I couldn't understand what it was about Edward that had him so firmly planted in every thought I had and every breath I took.

After laying in bed twenty minutes longer than I should have, I dragged my sorry self to the bathroom. I was due at Fenway in a few hours, and the very idea of seeing Edward again, even playing on the field, was nearly more than I was ready for. After I showered, I noticed the light rash from Edwards stubble. Heat thrumbed through my body and raced straight to my center at the thought of what he made me feel as he pressed against me, kissed me, and ground himself against my core. The image that flashed in my mind made me lightheaded and I gripped the bathroom counter to stabilize myself.

He would be the death of me, given enough time. Of that much, I was certain. How was it possible to have so much annoyance for one person and at the same time want to know what it felt like to wrap my legs around him, feel him as he would sink into me, and know that that even _that _wouldn't be enough.

I finished getting ready by pulling my hair up. If I was going to be seated in the stands watching the game, I wanted to make sure I was as comfortable as possible. It was July in Boston after all, and while that wasn't the same as July in Miami, hot was hot.

I grabbed a bottle of water, my pad, pen, tape recorder, and went to get my phone. I noticed the screen showed a voice mail. I dismissed it, collected my bag and keys and made my way to catch a cab. Once I was seated in the cab, I gave the location to the driver and listened to my voice mail.

"_Hey Bella, it's – uh, it's Charlie. Listen, I know you were supposed to sit in the Monster section today, but I was thinking – and the GM agrees - it would be a great idea for you to sit with the player's wives and families. So just stop by Will Call and the tickets will have been changed for you. And, uh, thanks."_

"No fucking way am I doing that!" I cursed and startled the cab driver.

"Excuse me?" he asked in that tell tale South Boston accent.

I shook my head, slightly embarrassed that I used my outside voice. "Sorry, I –uh- it was just a reaction."

"Pretty strong reaction there, miss. You got boyfriend troubles?" he asked as he looked at me through the rear view mirror.

I expelled a snicker. "Boyfriend? No, though I can guarantee you _that_ concept hasn't entered his head."

"Being a boyfriend? How in god's name is that possible? A beautiful woman such as yourself? He's missing the boat as far as I can see."

I smiled at my nameless cabbie. "Thank you, but I don't think he knows what the hell he wants, and this voice mail just complicates things."

"It does? Well listen here – if you aren't getting respect from a guy, don't waste your time. There are plenty of good men out there that know what the hell they want and aren't afraid to tell you and show you."

I smiled at his words and through the front window that we were a near the park. _Well showing me isn't the problem, is it?_ I thought. "Well it's hard to tell when even the guy doesn't know what he wants. Why is that? Why are guys so damned guarded anyway?"

"I don't know what this jerk's problem is," he continued, "but what you need is a nice guy. You going to the game today?"

The cab pulled up to the park and the cabbie put the car in park.

"Yeah, I am," I said as I fished my fare out of my wallet.

"Well you're here early enough. Why don't you go in there, watch some batting practice and try to catch a few eyes. That Edward Masen is available, I hear, and has the rep of a true gentleman."

I felt my ears blaze and my cheek on fire. I tamped down my irritation and handed him the money. "Thanks, but I don't date ball players. Too . . . untrustworthy."

"I wouldn't know about that, but in this town those boys are gods. I'm sure there is at least one single and decent on in the bunch."

"Hmm," I said as I collected my things. "Thank you."

"Most welcome. Good luck with that guy, okay? Stand your ground and if he can't commit- well, that's his loss."

I offered a smile as I climbed out of the cab. I knew it was honest and free advice, but it had set me on edge once again. I wasn't sure what the point was in trying again with Edward. I was convinced that until he understood what he wanted, he wouldn't change. And I wasn't sure I wanted to change values and rules that I had managed to follow for years.

I walked into the park via the press door and made my way to the clubhouse to see if I couldn't get a few words from a player other than Jasper Whitlock. I didn't know what his angle was. He'd flirted rather hardcore with me the night before, but then there seemed to be nothing behind it. I needed to set that shit straight before I did anything with Edward. Or at the very least before I actually had to interview him for the site.

I stood around the clubhouse for a good twenty minutes before I heard voices. I must have missed the majority of the players get ready for batting practice, but as in every locker room, there were a few that were hanging back .

"I swear on all that is holy, there isn't anything to tell. She left the restaurant and I haven't talked to her since," I heard Jasper's voice practically boom from the hallway that led into the clubhouse.

"Yeah, right. Since when do you not get the digits, at the very least?" the second voice asked.

"Look, McCarty, I get what I want when and from whom I want it. She just isn't on that list, got it?"

"Tell that to Masen," the voice, Emmett McCarty I assumed without actual sight confirmation, said clearly in warning.

A loud, short laugh boomed. "Yeah right. I'll tell him right after he grows a pair. Did you see the looks he was giving her? He either wanted to kill her or fuck her. I can't decided what was talking louder, but believe me when I say I won't let this shit lie."

"Your funeral, man. I'll see you out there."

"Cool,man. I'll be right up." Jasper's voice sounded closer to where I stood.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. I would have to face Jasper sooner or later, and based on what I had just over heard, it would be best to do so when Edward wasn't around.

"Hello?" Jasper called and I could hear his cleats lightly fall on the floor.

"Hey, Jasper. It's me, Bella," I said and did my best to keep my voice light.

Jasper quickly turned the corner and as soon as he saw me, flashed a killer smile, and closed the distance between us. "Hey, darlin'. How are you on this fine afternoon?"

I smiled at him, even as thoughts of what a player he was flashed about in my mind. "I'm doing fine."

"Mm-hm," he said as his eyes scanned over me, "that you are."

"Jasper," I said warningly, my voice showed my exasperation with him and the constant flirting.

A quick cock of his head told me he wasn't done. "No w, now, hold on darling. You can't blame a man for noticin'. Though I must admit it would be nice for you to be noticin' me instead of Masen."

I sigh quickly in exasperation. "Jasper, it's not like that. And really, it's not any of your-"

"Hold on there, darlin'. I'm not trying to start a fight with you. "

_Well that would be a first for me in this clubhouse, _I thought. I looked up at him, my eyes full of doubt and annoyance was building. There was only one way to stop this shit, and I needed to start with the man in front of me. "Jasper, I'm not interested in starting anything with anyone in the club, is that clear?"

"Yeah?" he questioned, his voice full of doubt. "Does Masen know that?"

I was ready to respond, to take his bigger-than-Texas attitude down a notch, when Jasper cocked a grin, lifted his hand to his head, touched the bill of his cap with one finger, and threw it back down – like some Texan in a ten-gallon. A quick wink fired at me and he was gone, leaving the clubhouse to take the field for practice.

I went to the field and watched the practice. The drills, stretches, batting practice had the potential to be incredibly boring, but there was something about this team that sucked me in. There was precision, speed, accuracy, and something more. Something that was very rare to see in a sports team – friendship. It was obvious from my perch in the visiting team's dugout that this team not only knew each other on the field, they knew each other off as well. There were jokes, asking about each other's wives and kids, about plans for the few days off that were coming up.

I watched Emmett McCarty and Carlisle Cullen laugh as they set up for practice.

"How's the knee holding up, Doc?" Emmett's voice boomed from a good half field away.

"You know how it is. Start out strong, stay strong, right?" Carlisle replied with an honest smile.

"How's that wife of yours doing?" Emmett asked as he started to stretch his arms.

Carlisle laughed as she strapped his guards on his legs and chest. "Well, she's almost got that house done with the remodel. I hope she's happy this time. I don't think I could stand it if she decided to sell this one and find another dying property to save."

"HA! That would suck if she did. You've been bouncing around more in homes within this state than most players do their whole career with team!"

"Don't think that hasn't escaped my mind," he said as he turned his cap backward and reached for his facemask. "Nah, it's a good thing. I figure if she's always working on a house here, they won't trade me, right?"

Emmett laughed and I had to smile when I heard it. "Very true, Doc. Very true."

I scanned over the field, watching the players go through the various routines they had for practice, and felt my breath stop and my jaw pop open when I saw Edward in the outfield.

He stood in his position in center field and tossed a ball between himself and Seth at second base. It was clear that these two were close, and I knew my team history well enough to know that they had practically come up from the minors together. Seth had once commented in an interview that Edward was the future of the team—that his speed and base stealing was unmatched in the sport. It was clear their friendship went well past the field, and watching them toss the ball with the ease they did proved the point even more clearly.

I started to zone in on Edward. The way his cap sat on his head and covered the hair my hands had been running through; I could still feel how soft and thick his hair was. I was drawn in by the way his forearms looked as he threw the ball and remembered all too clearly what it felt to be held in his strong arms. My eyes locked on his thighs and the obvious strength they had as I remembered he had me lifted and pressed against my front door. I felt light-headed as the memory of the past day consumed me and I struggled to collect myself before anyone noticed how far gone I was.

It took a few minutes, but I managed to calm my body's reaction to Edward and was able to focus on the rest of the team. It wasn't long before Jasper came onto the field to practice on the mound, and as soon as he did, I could see Edward's posture change. His face, which had been light and open before, was drawn serious and almost glaring at Jasper. I wondered what the issue was between then, if it extended beyond Jasper's strange urge to be constantly flirting with me, and Edward's clearly undecided state where I was concerned.

"Wow, you think pretty highly of yourself, don't you, Dwyer," I said to myself.

I shook my head and wondered if Japer and his inflated self worth had finally gotten to me. I threw my notebook in my bag and decided that I would head back to the clubhouse and start working on my first assignment that was due in a few days.

* * *

EPOV

My bat, which had been so productive in batting practice, was absolutely silent. I struck out twice, and the second time, I felt like I was going to wring the umpires neck as he rung me up.

I sulked into the dugout, not even feeling up to reminding myself that at least we were losing to Roy Halladay, one of the better aces out there.

The dugout was pretty silent, as Sam, and then Emmett and finally Seth, all succumbed to Halladay. Lester, our starter, turned in a good performance, but against Halladay's domination, nothing looked all that great.

We lost, 3 to 1, and I wanted to punch something as we filed back into the clubhouse. Instead of feeling vindicated and cleansed with the passion of a great game played, I felt more edgy and tense than ever. I knew I was going to have to approach Bella after the game, and talk to her, and I was dreading it. I seemed to stick my foot in it more with her than I had with any other female, and I had a feeling that today wouldn't be any different.

I _would _make her see, I vowed. If I didn't get my hands on her in the next twenty four hours, I might actually implode from the sexual tension.

The clubhouse was usually laidback and relaxed, even after losses, but today had everyone perplexed and it was a lot quieter than normal. Even Seth seemed to have lapsed into a period of relative silence, which was the weirdest part of all. Usually he'd blast bad rap music after a loss, dancing around like an idiot to raise everyone's spirits. But today, he didn't even dock his iPod into the stereo system.

I took a shower and was just packing up my bag, mentally reciting what I was going to tell Bella, when Jasper sidled up to me, a smirk plastered over his features.

"Good game," he said, and I gritted my teeth. "I especially liked the part where you showed Halladay where your balls were."

I turned to face him. "Listen, Whitlock. Bug me all you want to about Bella, but leave my fucking lame ass performance out of it."

Jasper shrugged innocently, as if he was surprised I was reacting so negatively to what he'd said.

"Listen, man, it sucks. Nobody was very good today. But some run support for my man Lester would be good."

I glared at him. Billy was the captain of the team, but Jasper was the unofficial leader of the pitchers. I knew it frustrated them when they didn't get run support, but we'd had to go against Roy fucking Halladay today.

"You going to go find Miss Bella Dwyer? Get loosened up? Cause she looks like a fucking _tiger _in the bedroom, you get me?"

Oh, I got him alright, and I'd come to the same conclusion myself, from personal experience, but I hated his insinuation. Nevermind that it was the same thing that I'd accused her of being myself. I'd realized, over the last few days, that Bella liked wanting me just about as much as I liked wanting her. She wasn't a groupie; she would rather walk across hot coals than sleep with me, but sometimes our bodies made a decision and there was nothing our minds could say about it.

I should have let it go, but it bothered me, strangely, that Whitlock had the wrong impression of her. Bella was smart and professional; it wasn't her fault that her body lusted for me just as much as mine wanted her.

"Bella's not a groupie," I said calmly. "I'm suggesting—no,I'm _ordering _you—to treat her with more respect than that."

Whitlock's expression of surprise told me that he'd been expecting me to agree, not to stand up for Bella's honor. Then his gaze tightened, and he ambled a step closer, until he was definitely in my personal space. "It's none of your business how I think of Bella," he said quietly in a deadly voice. If I knew what was smart, I would agree with him. But I realized, I'd decided that it _was _my business what everyone thought of her. If I was going to defend her, did that I mean I liked her after all?

"You're wrong," I told him, aware that the room around had grown even quieter, the rest of the team picking up on the fact that we were in the middle of what was rapidly turning into a confrontation. "I'm making it my business. Bella is a _nice _girl. You will not treat her like a groupie."

A deadly smile broke over Jasper's face, as he coiled, then struck. "But you do."

I didn't stop; I didn't think. My fist, which had been clenched at my side during the entirety of our conversation, struck back, hitting Jasper square in the jaw. Pain blossomed across my knuckles, and the room froze for a split second before Jasper could process what I'd just done, and then I was on the floor, tackled backwards as Whitlock rained punches down like hellfire.

I managed to block most of them, but he landed a few good ones on my ribs and one well-placed hit on my face that would definitely turn into a black eye.

Whitlock was pissed as hell, spitting obscenities at me, and it took three guys to pull him off of me. I sat up, rubbing my ribs as I tried to get to my feet.

"What the fucking hell?" Charlie yelled as he marched into the room, his face bright red with fury. "What the _hell_, Masen?" He got in my face, yelling, but I had to admit that my temper was a lot more in control after being able to lay Whitlock out. He'd been asking for it for longer than I could remember, and it had felt fucking amazing. _And _I'd defended Bella. Maybe if I told her that, she'd be swayed to see things my way. Girls liked that sort of thing, right?

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I said holding my rapidly-bruising hands out in front of me. "Sorry."

"Out of line," Charlie bellowed. "Sam tells me you punched Jasper first."

"I did," I admitted. "But he fucking deserved it. He called Bella a groupie."

Charlie's face, if it was even possible, grew darker with rage. "He fucking called her _what_?" He turned towards Whitlock, who was holding a cold water bottle to his jaw.

I wondered if he'd deny it, but he just nodded. I had to admit that it took a brass pair to admit to Charlie, who was terrifying when he got angry, that he'd fucked up.

"I was just defending Bella's honor, sir," I added, hoping that maybe this would excuse me from my whole part in the brawl.

"Shut up, Masen," Charlie said testily, as he stalked towards Whitlock. "And you, you miserable excuse for a man. You'd better make yourself scarce before I decide to finish the job that Edward started."

He said nothing, just got up and let the door slam behind him. "And _nobody_, _nobody _breathes a word of this to the press," Charlie ordered as he stomped off.

Seth handed me a bag of ice and sat down next to me on the bench. "I can't believe you got away with that," he said, awe in his voice.

I couldn't really believe it either. I mean, Charlie had vouched for Bella's credentials, but I hadn't imagined that Whitlock's insult would really piss him off that much. Good thing he hadn't found out about me almost screwing her. If I did manage to get in Bella's pants, I'd have to keep it more under wraps than I'd thought. There was no telling what Charlie would do if he found out that I was involved with her.

"So you're going to pursue her then?" Seth asked, and I nodded.

"I need to go talk to her now. . .let's just say that our last conversation left a lot to be desired."

"Well, you'd better do it fast," Seth said, slapping me on the back, "before your black eye gets any worse and she asks what the hell happened to you."

* * *

BPOV

I got a good amount of work done and decided the last place I needed to be was in the clubhouse when the team came back in and did what they needed before the game started. I packed up my bag and decided a stroll around the park would be a great way to pass the time before I needed to claim my seat and watch the game.

After eating then exploring the public areas of the ballpark, I went to Will Call and picked up the ticket Charlie had left for me. I didn't like the idea of sitting with the families, it just seemed too personal, but I knew there was a reason Charlie and the GM wanted me there so I knew I needed to just suck it up and deal. I would talk to Charlie later about the issues I had with it. I knew _that_ conversation would have to happen sooner rather than later.

I looked at my ticket ,and after some assistance, I found my seat. The wives and family members were filing in and it wasn't long before the seat next to me had an occupant.

"Hey there, I'm Rachel. Seth's wife," she said with a huge smile and stretched out her hand.

I took it and returned the smile. "Hi, I'm Bella Dwyer." I half expected either a vacant smile or to be asked who I was with, boyfriend-wise.

"Oh right! The reporter from ESPN! It's really nice to meet you. Seth was talking about you last night." Her smile increased and I could hear genuine honesty and friendship in her words.

I chose to ignore the last thing she said, and instead focused on the part I thought most wives, and players, would have issue with. "Yes, I'm that reporter. I'm here to cover the team for the rest of the season."

"Well that is wonderful! I'm so glad you chose to sit with us today. You'll see an entirely different game sitting here with the families and, well, other _important_ guests." She kept smiling, but offered a wink at the end. Yeah, _that _ wasn't telling, was it?

Rachel and I talked on and off throughout the game, and I fast realized that she was someone that outside of my assignment, I could actually be friends with. She was very sweet and honest, but quite the little bulldog when her husband missed a pitch or failed to connect on a throw. As the innings passed, our conversation went from casual, short talk to a slightly more personal one.

"So are you dating anyone, Bella?" she asked with such a leading tone in her voice I knew she in all likelihood already knew something about what was or wasn't happening between Edward and me.

"Um, no. I'm not and the horizon isn't looking too hopeful either," I said hoping she would understand that I really didn't want to speak about Edward.

"Well, that's fair. I'm sure you really want to focus on your career and all. I mean, this is a pretty huge assignment you've taken on." She turned her attention back to the field and I saw that Edward was up to bat.

"Yeah, it really is." I watched him take the pitches. First a ball, then a second ball. He swung on a strike, then the catcher called for a time and went to the mound.

"You know, Edward is a really decent guy. Seth wouldn't be friends with him he weren't. They spent a lot of time together in the minors. When Seth was called up, Edward was really worried he wouldn't ever get the call. Seth talked to him for a good three hours that night."

"Uh-huh," I said. I was listening but truth be told, I was drawn to Edward like a moth to a flame. Or more aptly a train to a wreck.

He swung on the next pitch and it went deep right before it was caught. He almost made it on base and I could see his posture change when the ump called him out. Seth followed him for the next out, and Rachel , after shouting encouragements, came back to our conversation.

"Have you talked much to Edward?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the game.

I thought about her question for a second. I really didn't want to go personal with someone I had only been talking to for five innings. But there was something about her that made me trust her. Well, trust her enough. "Not too much talking, no."

I saw a faint smirk appear. "No, I suppose not. He's not too friendly with reporters."

I saw the light coming through the crack and pushed the door open. "Yeah, I noticed. Why is that?"

"Well," Rachel sighed as she spoke. She looked around us before she spoke. "Edward came up in September, just before the regular season was over. He was thrilled to have his shot. Most of his buddies had been called up earlier in the season, so he was feeling like something was missing or something. Anyway, the story. Back before he was called up, he and Sam Uley were back in PawSox land. Sam had been called up but was sent back while Charlie tried to figure out how to bring him to stay – too many players and they weren't ready to trade anyone yet. Well, Sam started seeing this girl that summer and we all really liked her. She was a local reporter and it seemed like a great thing for him.

"Once he was called up, he knew he wouldn't have too much time while he tried to prove himself to the club so he called it off with her. We all thought things were fine until Spring Training. By that time, he had met Emily. They were perfect for each other from the first minute they met. We all knew he'd marry her. Well, Leah wasn't too thrilled with that. She hadn't quite gotten over Sam and really put up a stink in Fort Myers. She used her press credentials to really make things pretty hard for him."

"What did she do?" I asked in a hushed tone so our conversation could remain as unnoticed as possible.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "She did what any worthless reporter does. She lied. She said she had first hand knowledge of him doping and that he was abusive towards his last girlfriend. She tried selling her 'story' to the sports media outlets, but no one bit. She found a few smaller outlets that were willing to pay a pittance for her drivel."

"But she was his last girlfriend," I said. I found I was getting slightly annoyed hearing her retell the story.

"Right, but the locals in Ft. Myers didn't know that. Heck, even the people in Boston didn't know. And Sam's a pretty massive guy. It's easy to believe someone of his size got that way by unnatural means. It was cleared up before the team ever left Ft. Myers but by that time, it really left a mark of the guys that came up together. Seth, Edward, and Sam are pretty tight and that nonsense really hit them all pretty hard. It took a few months for the organization to clean that mess up. But Sam was worth it. Charlie knew it was all lies and that was all that mattered to most people. If Charlie trusts a person, it reaches deep in this town and in this sport."

"So that's why Edward hates reporters? Because one girl went all 'Fatal Attraction' on Sam?" I asked. I avoided the reference to Charlie. He had nothing to do with Edward's issues, so I wasn't going to bring him up if I could help it.

"Not entirely."

"What? There's more?" I asked, slightly shocked. Just how little I knew about the back story for this team was becoming clear, and Rachel was more than a fountain of information. At least the information that I really needed – information in Edward.

"Oh hell yeah, there is," Rachel started. "Remember all that crap this summer about Emmett using steroids?"

"Who didn't hear about that?" I asked. I noticed that the inning had retired since we had been talking and I looked out to center field in time to see Edward catch an out. My heart leapt at the sight of him before I quickly, and silently, chastised myself over it.

"Way to go, Edward! Nice catch!" Rachel shouted, and I noticed several other wives were cheering him as well. "Ok, so early in the summer that story broke. It's obvious, and has been proved, that Emmett never doped but some reporter got it into their heads that they were going to fishing and see if they could make a story about nothing. I mean, Manny had had just been accused of the same thing, and you know how tight Emmett and Manny were before he was traded to the Dodgers. I guess to that report, it just made sense to claim Emmett had as well.

"Emmett's a big guy, just like Sam. And Edward really looks up to them. Sam was always telling Edward that his time would come and he would be called up. He texted him after every game when he was called up to let him know what to expect and all that. He's a real decent guy- heart of the team after Seth- and it really banged Edward up when he heard all the lies and rumors and doubt going on this summer about Emmett."

I thought about what she said and it all started to sink in. "So that's why he hates reporters?" I mumbled under my breath.

"Wouldn't that be enough for you? If the tables were turned and you had some pretty bad experiences with ball players, wouldn't you be a bit hesitant to trust a ball player again?" Rachel asked before she stood up and cheered her husband on after the double play he and Sam made.

_There is no way she knows, there can't be,_ I thought. Her words may have hit close to home, but I shoved them aside. "He did talk to me a bit yesterday."

Rachel sat back down and looked at me. "I know. Seth told me."

I gave a slight laugh. "I bet he did."

Rachel smiled a very caring smile and she placed her hand on my shoulder. "Bella, listen. From what I was told, Edward seems to really like you, but he has his issues just like I am sure you must. After Edward came to the majors, after the team won the World Series, he had to deal with a lot of crap."

"Like what?" I asked. I felt like whatever she had to say was going to either change my mind or solidify the thoughts I'd been having.

Rachel leaned over and nearly whispered, "All ball players have issues with female fans throwing themselves at them. Hell, most of the women do it just to collect a jersey story. You know? Say they slept with the player. They think about it like the 'Bull Durham'-thing, except they aren't helping the players. They're using them. Edward had his fair share of women that just wouldn't stop. Two of them were just bat-shit crazy. They never missed a home game and were always waiting for him after. This one, Tonya, oh mercy, she was a handful. He must have told her a hundred times he wasn't interested but she never stopped. She finally told him she didn't want a relationship with him, she only wanted sex. Well, you can imagine how that went over with him."

"No, actually I can't," I answered honestly as I watched Edward in the outfield.

Rachel shifted slightly in her seat and looked me dead in the eyes. "Bella, Edward is a damn decent guy. He never slept with any of the women that were flirted with him. Honestly speaking?" She waited for me to nod before she continued. "I've known Edward for a few years and I've never known him to date. And after what Seth told me last night, Edward is really into you."

I thought about what she just said and realized she must have known more that I first thought.

"You wouldn't know it by my side of things."

"Bella, at the risk of sounding like we're back in junior high school, I know . I mean, _I know_ what happened yesterday. Edward told Seth about the night he left your house. He is having a hell of a time trying to figure this out just like I think you are. And I think that short of you actually telling him – well, he won't see it."

"Rachel, I don't know. I mean he clearly has issues with reporters and even if I wasn't one, I'm sure there would be other reasons why we just can't get along."

"But the chemistry is there, right? The way Seth talked about it, it sounds like that certainly isn't an issue."

"Well, no," I said. I was immediately embarrassed with the knowledge that of exactly what Edward may have shared.

"So, it is Jasper then? Are you more interested in him? Seth said you two were quite chummy at dinner the other night." Rachel raised her brow and offered a smile. She really was like a little truth tonic.

"Oh god, no. It isn't Jasper. Are you kidding me? There is no- I mean he isn't even- and he just tries too hard. Oh my god, no. It certainly isn't Jasper. He just- I don't know- he'll never be more than a friend. Even if he does want more."

Rachel smiled more broadly and leaned back in her seat. "Hmm. Seems like you have some things to think about, doesn't it?" She looked over at me and winked again before she turned her focus back to the game and cheered her husband and the team on.

I tried to watched the rest of the game, but all I could see what Edward did on the field. My head was too full with thoughts of what he had done to me at my front door and in the clubhouse, the looks he'd given me at dinner, and the way he pursued me into the cab. I had been in an Edward-free existence for almost two days before I came to the game and the moment I saw him, I was sucked back in. I felt myself drawn to him, and in some strange way, I felt sure that it was the same for him. If we could keep from attacking each other with words and our bodies long enough, we might just be able to figure it out.

Then it hit me. What if the only way to prove to him that I wasn't a groupie or some rep-trashing reporter was to just drop the attitude and take the chance? Even if it meant sleeping with him before he figured his shit out. If what Rachel said was true, it had been a while since he had been with anyone. And he clearly wasn't the type to sleep around so . . . if he wanted me _that way,_ then maybe that was the only way he could show his true intention. He could be just as confused as I was about what was happening between us, that intense attraction. I had my reasons for my attitude and knew full well what they were. I had seen too many ball players "love 'em and leave 'em" and I had promised myself I would never fall victim to that. But if I went into it knowing that it was either going be just for sex or had the possibility for more, wouldn't I be a fool for not trying?

I watched the last inning of the game with only half my head in the game. It was a good thing my first blog post was going to be an overview of the team and park. If it wasn't, I would have been screwed. I felt my stomach start to do flips in the seventh and decided to make use of the food service men and women. I took down a beer and cotton candy and knew that the stomach issues wouldn't go away with food. I was going to find Edward once the game was over and make sure he got my point – one way or another.

The game finished and the boys lost. I had a feeling that my plan would be trashed because of it. Losses were never easy and if Edward's reaction to his ejection was an indicator, losing would give him the same vibe. Well, just toned down. I pulled my lip balm out of my bag and applied it more out of habit than anticipation. Although, once I started thinking about it, I really was anticipating him kissing me again. We were two for two as it was. I checked my phone for messages and replied to the few that needed it. My best friend, Alice, had texted several times to see how the new job was going. It was going to be interesting for sure to explain the situation to her as it had unfolded so far. I answered a few more emails from my boss and mother, and was just about to stand up when Rachel grabbed my arm. She had her phone in her hand and her eyes were wide.

"Bella! You aren't planning to go to the clubhouse, are you?" she asked and unless I was mistaken, she seemed panicked.

"Uh, yeah, actually I was. I got thinking about a few things and-"

"Oh! Well you can't, I mean- um, sit down for a second." She tugged on my arm and I had no choice but to follow her motion. "Uh, I just got a call from Seth. It seems that Edward hit Jasper in the locker room."

"What?!" I asked. I was shocked. No, scratch that, I was stunned.

"Yeah, seems Jasper may have provoked Edward with some comments about you and well… Edward hit him."

"Oh my god. I'd ask if you were kidding, but I can't help but think you aren't," I said still shocked.

What the hell had Jasper said that would have riled Edward up to the point he would hit him?

Rachel looked around to make sure we were as alone as one could be thirty minutes after the game. "I think you may have just gotten your answer, don't you?"

"Maybe, I still don't know," I said. I didn't want to place too much hope on something without proof. It was the reporter in me.

"Bella, Edward never raises his voice and never hits anything. I've known him for years and I can't recall a time I've been this shocked by something he has done. What now?" She turned her phone over in her hand. "It's a text from Seth," she said as she started to read the message.

"He's coming to look for you."

"What? Who? Edward?" I asked and I felt panic start to rise. I had a plan, sure, but I wasn't ready to put it into effect.

"Yup, he just left the clubhouse and he's coming here. Seems he knew you were seated with me today."

"Rachel? What do I do?" I questioned. Any plan I had in place after the seventh inning flew out the window.

"Do what come natural. And if that doesn't work – do what you two do best," she said. She reached over and hugged me. "I hope it works out. I'd love to see you again. And don't be a stranger. Edward's family seats are never taken so just feel free to sit here any game, ok? And good luck!"

"Yeah, right. Thanks," I said and I released the hug. I watched her leave the section and finally stood up, ready to let Edward find me.

I was trying not to panic but I knew I was failing.

* * *

EPOV

Twenty minutes later, I was hot in pursuit of my goal. I'd even managed to develop a three step plan in the interim. It wasn't complicated, but it didn't have to be—it only had to work.

Step 1: find Bella.

Step 2: convince her that I wasn't a jerk.

Step 3: get naked and busy.

I'd struck out in the lobby and was about to find an usher and ask if they'd seen her when I heard her voice behind me, on the stairs that led to the wives' box.

"Decided to take up boxing?" she asked in an amused voice.

"Bella, I've been looking for you." I knew I sounded relieved; I figured it wasn't bad that she knew just how desperate I was—or maybe just how desperate I was for her.

"So I heard," she said. "And I heard that you'd decided it would be a great idea to use your ace pitcher as a punching bag."

Charlie had said that the press couldn't know, but I had a feeling that Bella wasn't going to write about this. At least she wouldn't when I told her why I'd done it.

I shrugged, trying for nonchalant. I didn't want her to think that what I'd done was a big deal, when in fact it was. I was usually a pacifist. It was only since Bella had arrived in my life and had twisted me into knots that my temper had begun to get the better of me. "He deserved it," I said.

"What did he say?" She walked up to me, her dark hair falling around her face. I hadn't ever seen her with it down before, and I wondered if she'd worn it like this for my benefit. It wasn't very likely, but I still liked it. She really was beautiful, except she didn't seem to know—or maybe it was that she didn't care.

"Nothing important."

She reached up, the tips of her fingers grazing the tender, bruised skin around my eye. "You've got a black eye; it was definitely something important."

"You should see Jasper," I joked, and she rolled her eyes.

"Seriously. Tell me what happened."

So far, I thought with relish, she was eating out of my hand. It was all part of the plan to pretend to be reluctant to share the reason for my fight with Jasper. Then she'd drag it out of me, be incredibly touched that I'd defended her, then she would let me take her clothes off. Please, god, soon. Just being in her presence made my fingers itch to touch her like I had the other night. My attraction to her still didn't make any sense, but I was through fighting it.

"Promise it won't show up on any websites tomorrow," I said, as I shifted my bag to my other shoulder, and glanced around surreptitiously, confirming that we weren't being watched by anyone who would tell Charlie.

"I promise."

"Whitlock said something. . .not exactly. . ._nice _about you. I defended you."

I'd expected a lot from this admission. I expected gratitude and tears, followed quickly by nakedness.

What I got was something else entirely.

Bella Dwyer, ever the surprise, laughed in my face.

"He was just trying to get a rise out of you," she said, when she'd finally stopped laughing at my expense. "And you let him. Jasper and I understand each other."

And just like that, my temper ballooned out of control again. "Believe me, " I told her emphatically, "it was not like that at all. He meant what he said, and it was unacceptable."

She shook her head, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Believe me, he was trying to piss you off. And he succeeded, clearly."

"Clearly," I muttered under my breath, my annoyance with ballooning again.

"But," Bella added, as she smiled at me winsomely, "I appreciate the sentiment."

_Great_, _that will really help_, I thought fatalistically.

I took a deep breath and tried to find my self-control. I had to get control of this conversation before I went off half-cocked again or attacked her in the lobby of Fenway. What I needed was a smooth, collected seduction attempt. "What are you doing later? Would you like to have dinner with me?"

She glanced at me speculatively from under long lashes. "Dinner?"

"I haven't been very . . ._nice_. . .myself," I added lamely. I was never very good at apologizing, but I was trying my damndest here. I had to dig myself out of the hole before she decided that I was more bother than I was worth.

"I can't do dinner," she said apologetically, "but I _can _do this." And abruptly, she pushed me backwards, until we were in an out of the way alcove that led to the bathrooms, and then, with me pinned against the wall, she kissed me.

She tasted like cherries and beer and cotton candy. I groaned into her mouth as she wrapped herself around me like a vine around a tree. Lust exploded in my brain as our tongues met and melded together.

Her hands slipped between us and rested on my chest, then moved lower, caressing my torso. She wasn't very gentle against my bruised ribs, but I didn't care, as long as she kept touching me. I tangled my hands in her hair, relishing the feel of the silken strands on my skin. I wanted her, desperately, and I hoped that the feeling was mutual.

My lips left her mouth and slid down the long column of her beautiful neck. "I want you," I murmured into her ear. "Dinner or not."

She pulled back a little, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But you're going to have to wait for dinner, and not before."

"When?" I asked, before I captured her mouth again, gorging myself on the way she tasted.

"Soon," she said, as she tried to step away, clearly a lot more in control than I was at the moment. That was unacceptable. I needed her shaking against me again, making those tiny desperate noises in her throat. I needed her as crazy for me as I was for her.

"Bella." I held her fast against me, refusing to let her move. Her eyes bore into mine. Deliberately I shifted my hands, just the tips of my fingers tracing the elegant line of her spine. "Don't tease me, or I'll tease you back."

She gave a little shrug, her expression seeming to say that she wasn't exactly going to argue with that.

"Fine, it's your choice," I said, pulling her even closer until she was absolutely flush against me and could feel every inch of how much I wanted her. I bent my head, and kissed her again, nibbling on her bottom lip until I heard that groan that I loved so much.

"Fine, fine," she gasped, pulling away. "You win."

"Good," I said smugly. "Now tell me when."

"I'm going with the team to Texas. Take me out then, then find a way to ditch your roommate," she said breathlessly.

I thought about this for a second, shifting her against me until she gasped a little. "I think we could manage that," I said, brushing another kiss against her lips. "But I'm not sure I can wait that long. I'm so . . ._tense_."

"You are," she agreed, her hands moving lower, until they were resting on my belt buckle. I sucked in my breath as she traced the taut skin above my jeans. "Maybe I should help you out. . .or maybe I shouldn't," she said with a laugh and a smile, pulling away from me before I could react.

"That's not fair," I said, swallowing a string of curse words. I needed her, like I'd never needed a woman before. She'd twisted me up into knots and it was up to her to untangle them.

"See you in Texas," she said with a wink, as she walked away, leaving me with a black eye, bruised ribs and yet _another_ impressive set of blue balls.


End file.
